


Battlesong: An Optimistic Opera

by aheshke



Series: Star Wars Crack Universe [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU: I Can Do What I Want, AU: The Canon Is Terrible, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apparently yes, Bulletpoints, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking Songs, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Freeform, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Mildly OOC, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Polyamory, Reckless Self-Indulgence, Space Opera, author favors humor over wookieepedia-exact accuracy, laser sword shenanigans, look ma i'm not even a real published writer and can do it better, mentions of animal death, mentions of recreational drug use, seriously would it kill disney to have a semi-coherent narrative?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22626139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheshke/pseuds/aheshke
Summary: Rebellions are built on hope. Republics are built on theatrics.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Phasma & Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Finn/Rey (Star Wars), Jessika Pava/Rey, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker, OC/OC, Poe Dameron/Finn, Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey/Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Rey
Series: Star Wars Crack Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641670
Comments: 23
Kudos: 23
Collections: Aheshke's OT3s





	1. Fragments of the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galeneiis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galeneiis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tomorrow (there'll be more of us)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648131) by [dimircharmer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimircharmer/pseuds/dimircharmer). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is a semi-cracky fix-it fic that is NOT canon compliant, but will pull in various details from the PT, Clone Wars, OT, ST, and EU (if I can make them work).**
> 
> Will be updated as chapters are written.

Childhood Moments:

  * Four-year-old Poe Dameron and three-year-old Jessika Pava run in circles around the Force-sensitive tree on the Dameron homestead, shrieking happily under their parents’ watchful eyes, the first-born in peacetime in more than a generation.
  * Two-year-old Ben Organa Solo giggles as he swings a stick, mimicking the movements of Luke and Leia as they practice with lightsabers on the new Jedi Temple grounds of Yavin 4.
  * Six-year-old Armitage Hux skips along at Brendol Hux’s heels, holding a small toy blaster up for his father to see. Brendol sneers and snaps the toy in half, snarling, “Don’t speak to me until you learn to use a real weapon,” before turning on his heel.
  * Thirteen-year-old Phasma stabs her brother Keldo in the foot and shoves him into a cave, her clothing and hands covered in their parents' blood.
  * Three-year-old Finn sucks his thumb as he clutches his mother’s skirts while they shop at the market. He sees a strange man, dressed all in grey, with a red-colored bird in his arms and lets go of his mother to run after the man. He never sees his mother again.
  * Five-year-old Rey weeps and squirms as her parents hand her off to scavengers on Jakku. “She’s small and clever enough to fit where you can’t, and needs very few rations for her keep,” her father slurs, holding out his hands for a stack of coins, enough to keep him in the drink for a month.
  * Fifteen-year-old Paige and ten-year-old Rose Tico peek out the windows of their grandmother’s Z-95 Headhunter and watch as Stormtroopers once again march down the streets of Hays Minor.



* * *

“Why won't you make me your apprentice? I’ve mastered everything I can learn as a padawan and it's not fair!"

"I don’t believe you have truly completed your training yet, Ben. You have yet to master control."

"But I'm so much better than the rest! You know I'm ready, but you're just not willing to spend more time on me."

"It's not like that, Ben. I want you to continue to train with the other padawans and I will tell you when I think you're ready to move on. As it stands, I don't think you respect the Force enough to advance to an apprenticeship. Perhaps meditate on that awhile."

_"Ah, look at how he disrespects you, Master Ben. You have so much raw, untamed power than the others and you know he is holding you back on purpose out of jealousy, keeping you stuck with those of lesser talent. Shouldn't a teacher want you to succeed, no matter how far you surpass your peers? Or his own skill? A good teacher would devote more time to you than these mewling, useless children. I can help you with that."_

* * *

_[Holo footage from Jedi Temple One on Yavin 4, 23 ABY]_

  * Ben Organa Solo walks down the hall towards the weapons storage and opens it with the Force.
  * Another camera captures him considering a saber for a moment, seemingly appearing to talk to someone who isn’t in the room, before reaching for a blaster instead, one that would normally be assigned to New Republic security forces.
  * A flicker of static later, he disappears off-camera.
  * Fifteen minutes later, a camera captures him entering the padawan dorms.
  * There are several blaster shots fired and horribly young screams, as well as loud thumps, as if something is being thrown against a wall. The doors across the hall open and a stream of Force-sensitive teenagers rush into the other room. There are several more shots, a loud bang, and then a yelp as Ben Solo appears on camera again, bodily tossed by a Wookiee in padawan robes onto the hallway floor.
  * Ben scrambles to his feet, disarmed of the blaster, and uses the Force to shut the dorms closed before the others can reach him, then runs.
  * Tracking footage across Yavin 4 and its airspace capture Ben stealing a scout ship and blasting off into hyperspace.



* * *

"How many did he attack, Luke?"

"Five of my padawans killed, thirteen injured, mostly the younglings, before the senior padawans put a stop to it."

"And where is my son now?"

"...I don't know. I'm sorry. He obviously had been planning this for a long time and had an escape plan. I think we should increase security measures for the children for the next while. Watch and wait."

"I'm also sorry. There were warning signs, and Han and I discussed them with his therapists in the past, but we hoped your academy might be the solution. After what happened to Mimsy, we hoped more structure might help him control his anger."

"I am also at fault for ignoring the signs for what they really were. Don't judge yourself too harshly for doing what you thought was best."

“Let me speak to the families, at least. They deserve to hear from me what we plan to do about their children’s murderer. Oh, and Luke?”

“Yes?”

“Comm Mara.”

* * *

"Mara?"

"Well, if it isn’t my least favorite Jedi finally trying to comm me. What is it this time, farm boy?"

“As much as it physically pains me to say it, I need your help.”

“With what? And it’s going to cost you double.”

“Ben Organa Solo.”

“…Triple.”

* * *

  * Eight-year-old Rey is stuck, well and truly stuck, inside the crashed remains of the Imperial Star Destroyer.
  * The other scavengers have taught her a large vocabulary of curse words, which she now says vehemently against Unkar Plutt for pushing her to venture into such a decayed part of the ship to look for rare metals and weapons.
  * “Help!” she yells, but her voice simply echoes in the darkness, and she can’t move, squeezed on three sides in a collapsed ventilator shaft.
  * _If she could just reach the metal rung two feet in front of her for some extra leverage…_
  * Her arms are too short, no matter how far she stretches her arms and wriggles her hips.
  * On Jakku, one dies quickly without food or water, even if they aren’t exposed to the blistering sun. Rey mentally counts the hours she has left before the dehydration makes her too weak to move.
  * She screams, screams, and screams again until her throat grows hoarse. Hours pass, and no one comes.
  * She closes her eyes in defeat, readying herself for the end.
  * Awaiting death, she feels something like a voice calling to her, as if echoing in the walls surrounding her and threading through the shadow-cooled dusty air of the damaged ship:
  * _You are stronger than you know, child. MOVE._
  * Her eyes still closed, Rey flexes once again against the ways and feels the metal _bend_ in a way that should surely be impossible, and feels herself lift out of the ventilator shaft, fly towards the sunlight streaming through the wreck, the sudden brightness stinging her eyes through her goggles, _impossibly, **impossibly**_ flying out and over the heads of the other scavengers in the Starship Graveyard.
  * With a final push of energy, she drops onto a dune and rolls down the side, gasping for air.
  * “Witch,” some scavengers say as they run to her, hoping a witch will fetch a great price.
  * “No, a Jedi,” wiser scavengers say, knowing she’s worth so much more.



* * *

Luke Skywalker doesn’t want to work with Mara Jade at the best of times (it’s a long story, involving kidnapping, ransom, and attempted murder), but she’s his best means of knowing how to track down Ben and search for him on secret bases of the Galactic Empire and where the Sith may be harboring him.

“But why do we have to search Jakku?” he wants to know, detesting the planet not only for its war history, but also the way it reminds him of the bleakness of Tatooine with its shifting sands and underbelly of desperate corruption. It pulls at his heart in a way that makes him remember the smell of the farm burning. 

Mara rolls her eyes while checking and rechecking her weapons before throwing on a poncho and sunhat over her distractingly tight suit. “The Emperor regarded Jakku as essential to his Contingency and there are still many allies of the Empire here. It’s worth taking a look.” 

Niima Outpost is barely a settlement, more of an inhabited junkyard, and controlled by an offshoot of the Hutts, which makes Luke pull his hat even further over his eyes, hoping he isn’t recognized. Scavengers, covered in far too many layers against the sun to determine their species and clutching their bags of scavenged goods, eye the two travelers warily.

Mara stops in her tracks before they even enter the marketplace, turning to look at Luke, and says, “You know, it’s strange but—”

“—the Force,” Luke whispers, feeling it like a large pulse, a signal flare of energy coming from a little over a mile away. It surges again, and Mara stumbles against him, leaning on his shoulder to support herself.

 _Ben_.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Mara and Luke run towards the source of the Force at a speed only possible for those gifted with Force-sensitivity, their ponchos flaring behind their shoulders. Whoever is using the Force keeps flaring it like a distress signal and Luke can sense the aggression and fear in it like a scream. They crest together over a final dune and this sight greets them:

A child-sized figure is surrounded by several scavengers who are grabbing at them while they try desperately to fight them off with a quarterstaff and shambling attempts at blasting them away with the Force. They are far too short to be Ben, but Luke has his lightsaber out without another thought. Mara ignites her lightsaber, too, and they run down the dune, adding their yells to the scuffle.

As expected, the scavengers drop the Force-sensitive person upon seeing them and scurry away as fast as they can go. Luke shuts off his lightsaber and extends his good hand to help them up, and at this vantage point, he can see that they are a human girl, at least judging by her bruised face, mussed hair, and style of dress. She doesn’t take his hand, but stands and grabs her staff, holding it up in a defensive position against him and Mara.

A memory flashes for Luke, unbidden, of Obi-Wan Kenobi telling him stories of Anakin Skywalker, raised in slavery under the rule of the Hutts. He holds up his hands. “Easy, easy, we’re here to rescue you.”

“So you can sell me like the others?” The girl scoffs and fixes her hat and goggles. “At least you look like you know how to make more money than the others with your fancy laser swords, that’s for sure.”

Mara crouches to be at the child’s eye level and takes off her hat, and Luke sees the girl’s eyes widen as she takes in Mara’s striking red hair and green eyes. “Look, kid, you don’t have to trust us, but believe you me when we say that we know a bit of what you’re feeling, and we can get you to someplace safer, at least, and where there’s food and water. And a much-needed fresher,” she adds pointedly. Her hand twitches and levitates a bit of sand in a neat swirl.

The girl doesn’t take her eyes off the swirl of sand, but says in a small, hopeful voice, “Food?”

Mara nods and takes out a wrapping of dried fruit from her pack. Luke hands over a water flask. The girl gulps down the water and food ravenously and stares at them with narrowed eyes, as if considering her options.

“Hey kid,” Luke asks, “You don’t happen to know of any other children like you? Ones who can push people away with their minds, or lift things? Maybe a teenaged boy who would have come through here about a week ago?”

The girl shakes her head. “I don’t know of any Jedi like me. That’s what I am, right? And you? You’re Jedi; that’s what they called me.”

“Yes,” Luke says at the same time Mara says, “No,” and glares at him.

“Luke and Mara, gifted with Force powers, as you are,” Mara explains to the girl, gesturing between them both. “But don’t call me a Jedi.”

The girl quirks a brow at them. “You two are _so_ strange, but I feel like something is telling me to trust you. Fine. I’ll stay with you for a while, _Luke_ and _Mara_ , so as long as you promise to feed me. Where’s your ship?”

Luke points back towards Niima Outpost and the girl sets off without looking behind to see if they are following her. Mara takes one look at the expression on Luke’s face and appears to be fighting back a laugh.

“Hey, wait up,” calls Luke. “We don’t even know your name! Or if we should talk to your family!”

“I'm Rey,” shouts the girl. “And don't worry, I have no family!”

* * *

[ _News excerpts from the New Republic, 4 ABY - 30 ABY_ ]

“The end of the war with the Galactic Empire has been officially declared by the New Republic, but pockets of Imperial resistance still remain. There is peace across the New Republic strongholds of the galaxy and their allies, but how long can it hold while bands of Stormtroopers rove through hyperspace and former Imperial officers jostle for political power? And can the sins of the former Empire ever be forgotten?”

“There are reports of children disappearing across Outer Rim planets and on the smaller colonies, several thousand since ABY 10. Is the New Jedi Order stealing them as the Jedi Order of old once did? Jedi Master Skywalker declined the requested interview, saying he had no knowledge of such a thing happening. Senator Mon Mothma will speak on the matter following an emergency meeting of the Senate…”

"Yesterday, Naboo was terrorized by a squadron of pirates who murdered thirty, raided food stores, and left propaganda claiming to represent the First Order gang before they escaped into hyperspace. This is the sixth such attack by the so-called First Order on a New Republic stronghold in the past year..."

“Has the Empire returned? Rumors from the latest skirmish in the Outer Rim with the First Order report the Sith leading their forces, according to surviving witnesses, and none have been seen since the fall of Darth Vader and Darth Sidious…”

* * *

Rose sobs in Paige’s arms as they watch a news holo replay the destruction of Hays Minor again and again, a smoking wreck all that remains of their home. It’s as though a part of her brain has been shrieking since she saw her family shelled to death and hasn’t stopped.

Paige’s tears drip onto Rose’s mechanic uniform, but her voice holds steady as she brushes Rose’s hair with her fingers and quietly sings, “ _Deep run the forests,/Tall rise the mountains,/Yet we know there’ll be a way./Though hardships abound,/Though dangers surround,/Yet we know we’ll see the day…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paige's song lyrics are from "MẸ TRONG LÒNG NGƯỜI ĐI"/"Mother in the Traveller's Heart", English translation by Pham Quang Tuan.
> 
> Playlist I'm adding to as I write the fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2P8xKcdtL1euZZnVE6Wf4s?si=6XDT_ImuSLq6A-dH2n9KwA


	2. Messages from Jakku

_34 ABY_

_[Transcript of Comlink Conversation between Kylo Ren and Admiral Thrawn]_

**Kylo:** Who's comming me at this hour? I explicitly gave orders that I wasn't to be disturbed while I rest.

 **Thrawn:** My sincerest apologies, Lord Ren. I wouldn’t have disturbed you if the nature of my call weren’t of the greatest importance. I am Admiral Thrawn, the last surviving admiral of the former Imperial Navy. You might have heard of me?

 **Kylo:** No, why?

 **Thrawn:** Regardless of if you have heard of me, I am in the unique possession of some information you and your master might find… _intriguing_.

 **Kylo:** I’m listening.

* * *

Rey is having an _involved_ makeout session with Jessika when Poe waltzes through the door, whistling, as if there is absolutely nothing odd about that in the slightest. Honestly, if she didn’t love him so much, she’d be tempted to feed him to the nearest Myntor.

Jessika stops what she’s doing (alas), and glares at him, but he only grins and sings:

“ _What do you do with a drunken Jedi/what do you do with a drunken Jedi/what do you do with a drunken Jedi early in the Temple? Brag about your night with his young apprentice/brag about your night with his young apprentice/brag about your night—_ ” He doesn’t get to finish because they both pummel him with pillows until he falls to the ground, wheezing.

When they finally relent, Jessika protectively puts an arm around Rey and scowls at their friend. "Now, why don't you tell us what was so important that you had to interrupt us?"

Poe throws up his arms in a gesture of mock-surrender. "Something good, I swear! General Organa invited me to visit Coruscant and says you're welcome to come along, as long as Rey's folks give the okay."

Rey visibly brightens while Jessika slumps.

"I get to see my cousins?" she asks eagerly.

"Oh great, a vacation on the planet of prissy city folk," Jessika mutters, though she attempts a smile for Rey's sake.

"Yup, and they'll loan me an old Civil War craft if you get permission to go, and promise to look sideways if you tinker with it on the way over or back."

Rey dimples from smiling so hard and squeezes him in a hug before rushing out of the room. "I'll ask them right now!"

Jessika crosses her arms and glares at Poe once she leaves. "I'll have you know that sharing a girlfriend does not, in fact, give you permission to barge in when I'm in the middle of exploring her tonsils."

Poe shrugs. "She hasn't seen her cousins since Life Day. I thought it would be nice."

Jessika sighs and nudges his shoulder with her own. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. But still. You owe me one."

"That's fair."

* * *

Rey rushes to the Jedi Temple, narrowly dodging a group of Junior Padawans practicing with holosabers.

She finds Mara seated beneath a tree, idly scrolling through her datapad, but she pauses when she sees Rey.

"Yes?"

"May I please be excused from this week's lessons so that I can visit Auntie Leia and the cousins?"

Mara raises a brow. "And who's in charge of transporting you?"

"Jess and Poe," Rey admits, flushing.

Mara snorts. "Well, _that's_ above my pay grade. Ask Luke. _I’m_ not the one in charge of your spiritual witchcraft and wizardry development."

Rey has to wait until Luke ends his lessons with the Senior Padawans before she can speak to him. Jess's and Poe's names are barely out of her mouth before Luke scowls and shakes his head.

"Last time they took you somewhere without even asking us first, you returned too high on greenflower to hold your lightsaber and then vomited on Chewie."

"I _did_ apologize to him," Rey protests. "And let him borrow my fresher and everything. And besides, I'll be with Aunt Leia and the cousins the whole time, I promise. I won't try it again!"

Luke sighs. The wrinkles in his face seem deeper and for the first time, with a pang of guilt, Rey realizes that when he had been her age, he had already saved the galaxy. How childish she must seem, having to promise not to try anything in a random Coruscanti club. “Okay, but I’m expecting you to take your training very seriously when you return. And don’t run off with your friends again without asking first!”

“Alright, _Dad_ ,” says Rey, but she’s grinning as she says it, and gives him a brief hug of thanks. 

* * *

Leia smiles as her children, Bail and Breha, race to hug Rey as soon as Poe safely lands their U-wing. The two twelve-year-olds are chattering loud enough to be heard even over Coruscant’s air traffic in the distance and Aldera runs around them, barking. (Aldera had taken years of them asking and asking before she finally relented, though she supposes she’ll never quite forget the image of her first son covered in Mimsy’s blood. Besides, she knows from experience what comfort a pet could bring to orphans of a galaxy recovering from war.)

The children lead their cousin by her hands to show her everything they’ve been up to since Life Day and Jessika Pava follows them, but Poe does not. He raises his eyebrows at her and leans jauntily against the U-wing.

“Oh you,” Leia says fondly, ruffling his hair. Years of friendship with Kes Dameron’s family after the war has made Poe more like a nephew to her over the years, despite the lack of blood relation.

He mock-swats her hand away. “Hey! I worked hard on making it look nice today for you big city folks.”

“I’m sure Rey and Jessika appreciate it.”

Poe huffs, but doesn’t hide the grin on his face. “So, what’s so important that you had to call me to Coruscant instead of transmitting a message?”

Leia glances around her and subtly shakes her head. She keeps up a litany of bland chatter about her children and Han’s latest adventures until they reach her secured office and she shuts the door behind them.

“Madame Di Pala dropped a new message for me a week ago.” Leia leans back in her desk chair and internally sighs at the pile of Senate documents she still needs to work through.

Poe whistles and sits down. “Two in less than a quarter-year? She’s getting mighty chatty.”

“Right. And the message itself was unusual, too: _Tuanul contact compromised. The Force is awakening and the First Order is rising. Find the survivors of the Inquisition in the Outer Rim._ I don’t recall her ever sending such a blunt warning to us before.”

Cupping his chin in his hands, Poe says, “We need to put together a team and investigate.”

Leia is secretly relieved that he trusts their most valuable source so much that he’s willing to begin right away. Even Luke and Han still have their misgivings about the Madame, despite the proven value of the spy’s information over the decades. Leia, however, learned long ago to heed the words of helpful sources, regardless of their questionable backgrounds. “Exploring the Outer Rim is no easy task, and could be very dangerous. We’ll need the best and the brightest to do it, which is why I thought you might be interested in leading it.”

Poe nods. “And perhaps ask the Senate to approve extra forces to monitor the situation in Tuanul.”

“They won’t like that,” sighs Leia, “strained as we are in holding the blockade. But I’ll pull in Mon Mothma to convince them if need be.” She smiles wryly, thinking of her friend, who still regularly shows up to Senate meetings, leaning on her cane and always prepared to calmly talk her political foes into shutting up. “But we can figure out the details in a bit. How’s your father?”

Poe brightens and launches into a tale of Kes Dameron’s adventures in growing caf trees and latest attempts to protect his treasured vegetable garden from the local wildlife. For now, the war can wait.

* * *

FN-2187 tries to be a good stormtrooper.

The key word being, “tries”.

He sings the First Order anthem (“Snoke Save Our Galaxy”) as loudly as the others, stands dutifully for all morning assemblies and the Nightly News Order, volunteers to clean the barracks without assignment, and looks after his squad, making sure everyone remembers to wake up on time and eat regular meals together in the mess. He was made a sergeant by the age of 18 and is good at his job and proud of keeping his ‘troopers alive despite the escalating skirmishes with the Rebellion. He just wonders why it never feels like enough, like his ranking officers seem to always look upon him with bemused pity, if not a sneer. Captain Phasma seems to dislike him particularly, based on her constant snide remarks about the cleanliness of his uniform or the way he holds his blaster slightly off-kilter when lined up in formation. He makes a point to stay well out of her way whenever their paths cross.

(Being left-handed is frowned upon in the First Order, as it makes the neat rows of Stormtroopers look less than… _orderly_. As a child, Finn was forced to use his right hand for everything to cure him of his deformity. His left hand was bound behind his back, no matter how much it ached by the end of the day. Removing the bindings, even for a little while, was strictly forbidden. His left hand still bears the scars after he made that mistake once. He had been seven at the time. Phasma had been eighteen, severely hungover, and unfortunately assigned to Trainee Duty that day.)

RK-514 tries to cheer him up in the mess one day: "Don't worry about it, mate. Soon we'll ship out to something bigger than a skirmish and they'll see how valuable you are to the First Order, just you wait."

Lately, it seems as though all the First Order wants of FN-2187 is to wait. Wait for orders, wait and swab the communal fresher, wait for news, wait for the captain to look down from her admittedly very imposing height at him and point out a new scratch on his armor, wait for something, _anything_ to happen and change the routine. 

But he's a good ‘trooper, so he keeps his mouth shut, and waits. However, even his squad seems to sense his restlessness.

DH-8067 tries to distract him with a holofilm (starring valiant and loyal ‘troopers versus evil Rebels), even though FN-2187 knows the tall Pau’an hates the stares and whispers he gets whenever he takes off his helmet.

LV-2225 picks a fight with MR-2941 over blaster cleaning procedure that fortunately he knows how to settle before poor TS-6448 tries to get involved and gets one of his purple tentacles blasted off. (He has to discipline the others with extra barracks cleaning for taking bets as to who would win.)

At last, his waiting pays off:

"Sergeant FN-2187, you and the rest of Squadron Alpha-Two-Nought-Zeta have been assigned to accompany Lord Kylo Ren on a special mission." The lieutenant finishes typing the orders into FN-2187's data pad and hands it back to him with a salute. "You are officially subordinates of Lord Ren and report to him or his subordinates at all times. You know the consequences should you fail to do so?"

FN-2187 salutes. "Yes, Lieutenant Tolvan."

_Immediate termination. Not only of him, but of the entire squadron to ensure the infection caused by such insubordination doesn't spread among the troops._

The mission, as it turns out, takes place on Jakku, a former oasis turned eroded desert. He wasn’t told where it would take place, of course, just when and where his squadron should muster at the appointed time.

PT-3410, who has a flair for data pads and electronics, figured it out and whispered the details to him in secret when they were marching to the mess for their final third meal on F.O. Battle Base One. (“Jakku was where the Rebels murdered thousands of ‘troopers about thirty years ago. Fairly strange to return to it so many years later, isn’t it?”)

Lord Ren is almost as tall as Captain Phasma, but dressed in the black robes and cape that mark him as a Force Warrior of Emperor Snoke. He wears a distinctively slit helmet and doesn’t remove it once, even when giving orders to the ‘troopers when they land on the barren sands.

At his orders, FN-2187’s squad speeds towards Tuanul, a small village on Jakku, along with four other squads of ‘troopers he doesn’t recognize and who brush him off when he attempts to talk to them, so he sticks close to his own ‘troopers. They are uncharacteristically quiet, affected by the desolation of the planet and the silence of the others. Even ZG-1779, always one to mutter a joke or comment to those nearest to them when their commanding officers are out of sight, keeps their mouth shut except for exchanging a meaningful glance with FN-2187 when Lord Ren nearly trips in the soft sand underfoot when they dismount from their speeders.

Lord Ren orders them to go from house to house in the village and bring every living being to the center of the town, human or not.

FN-2187 would be lying if he said no one had ever screamed when he pointed his blaster at them, but this is certainly the first time that he and his squad have pointed their blasters at screaming children and the elderly. As they guard their captured charges in the village center, he notices RK-514 shifting his blaster in his arms uneasily, as if it weighs more than usual.

One of the humans, an elderly bearded man, drops to his knees before Lord Ren, both backlit by the central village fire. Blood drips down his face from where it looks like he was hit with the butt of a blaster.

“Please, Lord, spare them. I’m Lor San Tekka; I’m the one you want.”

Lord Ren’s voice is oddly muffled by his helmet. “If you’re the one I want, then give me the map.”

With trembling fingers, Lor San Tekka pulls out a scrap of paper, the first time FN-2187 has seen such a rare and antiquated material, and presses it into Kylo Ren’s gloved hand. Ren’s hand curls protectively around the paper and tucks it into some part of his uniform that FN-2187 can’t see from his vantage point. “Now, leave the others alone,” Lor San Tekka says. “They have done nothing wrong.”

“They are guilty of harboring a Rebel spy,” Ren says coldly. “That makes them guilty of the highest order of treason!” He ignites his cross-bladed lightsaber and stabs Lord San Tekka in the heart. He raises a fist, a sign to the ‘troopers to be ready for immediate orders.

JP-953 and HL-2407 audibly gasp and the rest of Alpha-20-Zeta shift their blasters uneasily. A cold feeling sinks into FN-2187’s stomach, even as he keeps his blaster at the ready. A child whimpers, the sound echoing across the lonely sands.

 _He wouldn’t!_ FN-2187 thinks, a sense of dread building the longer Lord Ren holds up his fist and stares down at the prone body of Lor San Tekka, his lightsaber still switched on. _But these are unarmed elders and children, not Rebel separatists!_

“I’ve decided,” Lord Ren drawls, shutting off his lightsaber and jumping back on his speeder. FN-2187’s heart leaps in hope. “But I don’t have everything I want yet. After I leave here, leave no survivors,” he says simply, before speeding off into the darkness. One of the mothers of Tuanul covers her children’s bodies with her own, as if that will be enough, and several of the elders appear to be praying to the Force.

“You heard Lord Ren,” calls a ‘trooper with a sergeant’s bands from another squadron. “Let’s finish this and get on our— _AUGH_!”

FN-2187 doesn’t know which of his ‘troopers starts it, but the other sergeant falls to a blaster shot and then all of the ‘troopers are firing on each other. He shoots a ‘trooper who was taking aim at CR-9084 and thinks quickly of their next steps.

“Take the squad and get as many civilians as you can to safety!” he roars at RK-514 over the sound of blaster fire. RK-514 doesn’t even take time to nod, merely snatches up two squirming toddlers in one arm and races for the parked speeders, motioning for the other civilians and nearby Alpha-2 members to follow him.

FN-2187 pulls out smoke grenades from his pack and throws them towards where the Ren loyalists have makeshift barricaded themselves in villager homes while they exchange fire. He doesn’t stop to see if they made their marks, but pulls the nearest civilian onto his back and runs headlong towards the other speeders, thanking their cheap military budget for not even bothering to make different activation codes.

At first, he can’t see the pack of other civilians and Alpha-2 ‘troopers thanks to the kicked-up smoke and sand, but then: “Over here, Sarge!”

JP-953 waves to him from her speeder, a baby strapped to her chest and a woman clinging to her waist. They quickly catch up with the rest of the escapees on their speeders slowed by the added weight of the surviving civilians, fleeing as far as possible in the direction opposite from the one Lord Ren took.

FN-2187 knows he will have an internal crisis later over picking a fight and risking his ‘trooper’s lives with the First Order and _Lord Kylo Ren_ of all people, but his leadership training snaps him into planning on top of adrenaline-fueled alertness, and he moves towards RK-514 so he can get his input.

“We need to find a fortified area where we can be secure against the First Order,” he calls, the wind threatening to whip his words away if he doesn’t lean a little towards the man.

“I’m not sure such a place exists!” RK-514 yells. “At least, not on an Outer Rim planet. We’ll be Rancor meat before the Rebels even hear of this!”

The civilian (who is still clutching FN-2187 for dear life) speaks up then: “I think there is such a place, Mister ‘Trooper, sir!”

* * *

[ _Unencrypted comlink broadcast from unknown area of Jakku, intercepted by Galactic Civil War UT-60D U-wing en route from Coruscant to Yavin-4, piloted by Poe Dameron_ ]

“…Hullo? Hello? My name is FN-2187 and I’m a stormtrooper. Or at least, I was. Dammit, maybe I shouldn’t have started with that. Look, it’s a long shot, but we’ve been attempting contact with the Rebels, sorry, New Republic, for hours now and there are civilians with us who badly need food, water, and medical supplies. We estimate that we can last about three more days on Jakku where we are, but after that, I can’t say for certain. This is a message for the New Republic, or whoever is listening: We’re a group of eleven ex-stormtroopers and twenty-five civilians who survived a First Order massacre at Tuanul. We’re running out of time and we need your help.”

* * *

Kylo Ren is in a foul mood, which is a justifiable thing to feel when one's troops are being rebellious little shits, and on top of that, Hux insisted on a board meeting at the earliest hour possible, the sadist.

Phasma, Thrawn, and some other officers he doesn't recognize are also attending, clutching unusually-large mugs of caf.

"I call this meeting to order," says Hux, not even having the decency to look the slightest bit tired, damn him.

"As right-hand man to Emperor Snoke, I'm the highest-ranking officer here," gripes Kylo. "I get to begin the meetings!"

Hux sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Alright, Lord Ren."

"I call this meeting to order," says Kylo. "Now what's so important that we had to meet at such an odious hour?"

Hux shuffles the large stack of datapads and various folders in front of him. "Well, you might be keen to know, Lord Ren, that the Machine is ready and fully operational."

That _is_ good news. "Excellent. Which solar system are we testing it on first?"

Multiple people around the table seem to take a sudden interest in the contents of their datapads or in gulping down caf.

One of the officers, a timid-looking thing, raises her hand and only speaks when he nods at her. "Um, well, the thing is, Lord Ren, we weren't able to obtain enough kyber to make it, uh, operational for a whole system?"

"And why kriffing not?"

"Um, well you, see, there's the small matter of the Rebels' blockade and their rather upgraded IFF system." As Kylo clenches his hands into fists, the officer hurriedly adds, "But uh, we think it can destroy some very large planets, much larger than Alderaan for sure, and..."

Kylo feels a headache developing and waves a hand so the officer shuts up. "Fine, fine. We'll make do until we have additional sources of kyber. What are we naming it during the press release?"

" _Death Star III_?" suggests another officer he doesn't recognize. (Seriously, has he _really_ demoted or strangled so many that he barely recognizes their replacements?)

"That's bad luck," Hux points out. "We need something the Rebels don't think they can blow up this time."

" _Starkiller_ ," suggests Phasma.

"Right," says Hux snidely, "Because _that's_ the best name to give a weapon that at best destroys very large planets with a glorified lightsaber."

" _Starkiller_ ," repeats Kylo, ignoring Hux's commentary. "I like it."

(Across the table, Phasma smirks at Hux and mouths, “ _Piss off_.”)

"I'd like a vote before I go to the Presstroopers, please," insists Hux, rapidly typing notes into his datapad.

"Oh, did someone forget to send a memo about our being a democratic empire these days?" asks Thrawn, politely. “How very progressive, _General_.”

Kylo takes a sip of his caf, winces at its bitterness, and momentarily fantasizes about strangling everyone in the room so he can have a day or two of peace, quiet, and extra hot fresher water before some gray-uniformed flunkies are promoted to replace them. “Fine, we’ll take a vote: All in favor of naming the Machine _Starkiller_?”

The majority raise their hands, except for Hux, who crosses his arms stubbornly.

“All in favor of choosing whatever garbage chute name General Hux comes up with as an alternative?”

Hux glares at him even as he raises his hand, the bantha shit.

“ _Starkiller_ it is. First target to test it on?”

Hux opens his mouth to speak (or, more likely, complain), but Thrawn answers him first and also makes a show of sliding a datapad across the table to Kylo. “Lord Ren, I took it upon myself to research such a target with our navy’s decades of galactic research and might I suggest Exegol? I have provided the coordinates in front of you.”

Exegol is apparently a planet in the western Unknown Regions. Kylo wrinkles his nose. “Why Exegol, Admiral? I haven’t even heard of the place.”

Admiral Thrawn smiles. It’s an unsettling expression to see on his face. “Precisely, Lord Ren. We should test it where even the Rebels won’t hear of it until it is too late for them to mount a proper response. What better place to do so than a desert planet in the Unknown Regions?”

“Clever. I approve. Test _Starkiller_ on Exegol, then. Meeting adjourned.” Kylo shoves his chair away from the table and adjusts his cloak and gloves. He’s not staying to see if Hux insists on another pointless vote. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have stormtroopers to hunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thrawn and I agree about Exegol.  
> \- Friendly reminder that this is a CRACK fic and NOT canon compliant. As has been repeated multiple times so far both in the notes and the tags lmao. This fic is written out of spite, shits, and giggles. Thank you for your cooperation.  
> \- Additional verses to “Drunken Jedi” include: “Stick him in a pod with an angry Wookie. (x3) Underneath the Temple!” and “Challenge him to duel with a red lightsaber. (x3) All around the Temple!”  
> \- Madame Di Pala name credited to LinkedSoul.tumblr.com (thanks, darling!)  
> \- Credits for Alpha-20-Zeta Squad: RK-514 is a canonical stormtrooper cut from the original drafts of the Rise of Skywalker screenplay, PT-3410 and ZG-1779 are my own made-up ‘troopers, HL-2407 and CR-9804 are OCs of D.N. Bryn (dnbryn.com), MR-2941 is based on Myth979’s OC Morwinyon from her Bright Lights Cast Long Shadows fanfic series, JP-953 and DH-8067 were based on characters from fanfics by SpinnersendSlytherin and ThestralHouseofBlack, TS-6448 was inspired by Crait-levels-of-salt conversations with deijis, and finally LV-2225 was inspired by an OC of Georginger on Discord.  
> \- IFF = Identification, Friend or Foe  
> \- Breha and Bail are twin orphans Leia and Han adopted when they were babies, well after things went pear-shaped with Ben. They are precious smols.


	3. Strange Bedfellows

On Yavin-4, an emergency meeting is held once the U-wing returns to the base. Poe replays the intercepted message from FN-2187 and an intense discussion breaks out almost immediately in the former Alliance council room. Like Jakku, it’s yet another remnant of the Civil War.

“It could be a trap,” says Snap Wexley, who has more than a few reasons to distrust anyone associated with the First Order.

“It could be,” Luke agrees, “But there may very well be civilians from Tuanul who need our help.”

Lando Calrissian, who had arrived on Yavin-4 while Poe had been in Coruscant, looks up from his datapad, brow furrowing. “I haven’t been able to reach any of our contacts on Jakku yet. It may be that this stormtrooper is telling the truth. Or if not, we should still investigate the situation just as Leia recommended.” 

Poe’s with Snap: He has no reason to trust the words of a stormtrooper, no matter how desperate they sound, but there are more than a few reasons to visit Tuanul, and Madame Di Pala’s warning still hangs over him. He jiggles his knee while thinking until Rey reaches over and puts a hand over his, stilling him. She doesn’t look at him but her eyes crinkle when he takes her hand and squeezes it under the table; Jess’s arm is draped around her shoulders. Truthfully, Poe would love nothing more than to leave the issue of the stormtrooper to the rest of the New Republic and take his best friends with him to investigate the Outer Rim, but also feels something of obligation all the same. After all, it was his ship who received the message almost immediately after Di Pala had warned Leia about Tuanul. He wonders what his mother would do, were she in his position.

His father seems to have similar thoughts: “As Shara would often say, when people are suffering, we can’t sit around and do nothing. I think we should help them.”

“But where would they even be?” asks Snap.

Mara Jade-Skywalker, who hasn’t spoken since the message played, exchanges a glance with Luke. “I have a fairly good idea. I’ll need a small, volunteer-only strike team to go in and quickly extract thirty-six people if we don’t want to piss off Niima and start another battle with the bucketheads in her very backyard.”

Rey grips Poe’s hand tightly. A shadow crosses her face.

At that moment, Poe makes a decision.

“I volunteer to go,” he tells Mara. “You’ll need one hell of a pilot if you want speed.”

Jess gives a long sigh. “Of course you’d volunteer, Dameron. Guess I’m going, too.”

The Tico sisters and few of Yavin-4’s ground forces volunteer as well, eight in total.

“I want to go, too,” Rey blurts out. “I know Jakku the best out of everyone here. Let me help.”

Mara hesitates and looks to both Luke and Lando. The latter shrugs, but Luke scowls at his apprentice.

“No,” he tells her. “It’s far too dangerous and you haven’t even made up for the training you missed in Coruscant. As long as you remain an apprentice, the Jedi Temple is the best place for you to be.”

Rey recoils against her chair, as if stung. Poe wants to comfort her, to tell her he and Jess will return safely and can manage without Rey risking her skin, but knows this particular argument goes well above his friendship with the Skywalker family. Her lower lip quivers. “But, it’s _Jakku,_ Luke,” Rey whispers.

Mara hums in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Rey; you’ll need to stay here. I promise to make it quick and we’ll all be back before you know it.”

Rey looks down, crestfallen, but doesn’t push the issue further. Mara gives a few more preliminary details to the strike team members and when they will leave once the X-wings and shuttle transports are adequately supplied and prepared for a potential scuffle with the First Order. Jess takes Rey back to their room to sleep while Poe gives BB-8 an oil bath. On a whim, he attempts to message Leia at what must be a heinously late hour on Coruscant.

 **Leia:** What are you still doing awake?

 **Poe:** Could ask you the same.

 **Leia:** Ha. There’s news?

 **Poe:** Got a message from Tuanul and couldn’t wait for the Senate to deliberate on what to do. Mara is sending us in. Might get a bit hot on Jakku. What are the odds the Senate approves more forces planet-side in case we run into trouble?

 **Leia:** …not great. Threepio and I are making some progress, but not fast enough.

 **Poe:** Damn. Any chance the old, “I’m a war hero and the last royal survivor of the Alderaanian genocide” heart-strings trick might move it along?

 **Leia:** I’ve tried it enough that the Corellian delegation told me they have my speech officially memorized, but sure. Worth a shot, I suppose. 

**Poe:** You’re the best! xoxo

 **Leia:** Don’t get your ass shot out there, kiddo.

* * *

Rey is once again in the _Inflictor_ , the darkness surrounding her on all sides. Panic rises in her throat, hot as bile, until she brushes against a wall of rusted metal, looking for rungs to climb, and her arm passes right through the wall.

She’s dreaming.

Even in her dreams, she still feels the Force, threading its way around her, a pulsating web of energy she has learned to control far better than her initial awkward attempts eleven years ago. Now, the Force tells her to drop through the floor beneath her, and keep dropping, following a _tug_ in the Force that pulls as strongly as a rope.

She drops, the floor giving no more resistance than a pool of water.

Rey doesn’t know how long she falls through the wreckage of the ship until she’s drawn to the sound of a voice muffled but lilting in song and drops through a final floor into a large, brightly-lit room filled with sleeping sentients.

“ _Be not afraid, ‘tis I, be not afraid, ‘tis I; though wild winds blowing, the sands o’erflowing, Force rules in earth and sky…_ ”

The haunting voice belongs to a curly-haired Human woman with brown skin like raw umber, rocking her whimpering baby back and forth under the unnatural fluorescent glow. The woman’s voice is so soothing that Rey is caught in it, and it takes her a moment to notice the two stormtroopers whispering nearby, especially since they have removed their distinctive helmets. The ‘trooper nearest to the woman is blond and much larger than his dark-haired companion, who wears sergeant bands on his armor. She drifts closer to hear what they are saying.

“PT got into the FO comm system. Lord Ren is returning with the reinforcements,” says the sergeant, removing his gloves and massaging his fingers. Rey notices large, silvery-old scars lacing across the dark brown skin of his left hand.

The blond trooper swears quietly. “Doshin’ hell. And how long before the backup shield generators fail and we’re sitting ducks for the bombing?”

“A day maybe, maybe less. I don’t know. PT’s worked a miracle here, RK, but we still don’t know if anyone heard us.”

RK looks over at the woman with her baby, a frown pulling at his mouth. “I really hope we haven’t doomed everyone we just saved, Sarge. Blasters would have been a quicker death.”

The sergeant sighs and tugs his gloves back on. “I hope so, too. I’ll ask PT to try again. There has to be someone who can help, I just know it.” He stands, and Rey freezes because for a moment, his warm brown eyes meet hers and a strange expression crosses his face before he shakes his head, as if to clear it, and turns away.

Rey awakes in bed, her legs entangled with Jess’s and Poe’s head resting on her chest, her heart thundering in her ears.

* * *

Kylo covers his nose with the edge of his cloak to mask the scent of death as he surveys what’s left of Tuanul. The surviving stormtroopers have piled the bodies, both civilian and First Order, but haven’t bothered to burn them yet. The smell should make him heave, had he not skipped his usual first meal to attend Hux’s stupid meeting. 

Once again, he wonders how everything went to bantha shit so quickly. All they needed to do was get the map to C’Baoth, suppress any civilians who might mention it to the New Republic, and get out of the creepy Force cult town before Niima the Hutt could raise any hint of a fuss. Rage at the rebel stormtrooper squadron washes over him again. How dare they disobey, when he has important deadlines to meet?

“It’s strange how in spite of the decades between then and now, I never forgot the smell,” says a voice near his shoulder.

Kylo jumps, and turns around to see a pale man in Jedi robes with wavy hair and oddly familiar, sad eyes staring directly at him. He seems almost like a holo, the way Kylo can see right through him to Tuanul’s wreckage, but without a holo projector, he can’t be.

“Who the hell are you?” Kylo asks, reaching for his lightsaber, though on some level he knows it will be useless. Perhaps if he can’t harm this Ghost Jedi, or whatever he is, then the Jedi can’t harm him.

The ghost’s smile is slow, but sly. “I think you’ll figure out who I am in time. And that silly weapon of yours can’t hurt me, youngling.” The smile is replaced with a grimace as he surveys the dead of Tuanul. “You know, I did something like this once. I was angry, and hurting, and I wanted to cause them ten-fold the pain they had caused me. Later, I did even worse on behalf of the Dark Side, but always regretted that first slaughter.”

“But you’re a Jedi!” Kylo points out. How could an ally of the Dark Side end up wearing the uniform of their greatest enemy? Idly, he wonders if any of the stormtroopers and deathtroopers in Tuanul are witnessing their leading commander talking to a Jedi ghost, or if they just think he’s talking to himself on the sands.

“Well spotted,” the ghost says dryly. “Even at my lowest, I thought somehow that my love would be enough to outweigh what I had done. My love for my family, my love for my mentors, my love for the Empire I helped build. In the end, love wasn’t enough, but anger wasn’t, either.”

Kylo’s head feels woolly from the death-rot smell and he still has traitors to execute, so he whirls away from the Jedi and stalks back towards Tuanul. “If this is all some Force hallucination to teach me some important parable, Old One, then I’m not interested. I chose my path a long time ago.”

The Jedi’s voice fades behind him, but his note of mockery is unmistakable: “Ah, but are you so sure it won’t dead-end in the future?”

Back in Tuanul, the sole surviving sergeant of the attack reports to Kylo on the status of the rebel stormtroopers and surviving civilians. A messenger from Niima is with them, waiting to speak.

“Lord Ren, we tracked the traitors to the _Inflictor’s_ wreckage and believe they are hiding somewhere below. They have some sort of shield jamming any attempts to scan their precise location. We await your orders on our next move.”

“You didn’t have to wait for my orders to bomb the wreckage to ashes,” Kylo snarls. “We have more than enough firepower.” He flexes his hand, the sergeant flinching at the movement.

The messenger, an orange-skinned Twi’lek, clears their throat. “A galaxy of pardons, Lord Ren, but the delay to attack the _Inflictor_ was a request from Her Beauty Niima the Hutt herself. The lands with the wreckage were included as part of her legal deed and thus all valuables within it rightfully belong to her. To destroy without permission, she says, would be an act of war, not only with herself, but also with the greater Hutt Clan.”

Kylo’s headache worsens, if not from his frequent bouts of angry tension within the past few days, then an acute lack of caf on this Forceforsaken planet. “And what if the First Order wished to purchase the part of the deed with the _Inflictor_?”

The messenger names a sum so absurdly high that Kylo almost laughs, then has half a thought to kill the messenger just to be petty. Force and fuckery, Niima really has him by the balls.

“Niima has made her point,” he says. “Alternatively, what if I purchased passage for myself and my ‘troopers to search the wreckage for our traitors?”

This time, the sum is much more affordable. Kylo leaves the messenger to work out the accounting details with another First Order subordinate, his cloak billowing behind him as he speeds with his ‘troopers to mete out swift justice.

* * *

“I want to send the message again.”

PT-3410 sighs, but picks up the amplified comm she cobbled together from spare parts around the _Inflictor_ and replays his message Corewards once again. Not for the first time since their escape into the depths of the _Inflictor_ , FN-2187 reflects on how she’s been wasted as a ‘trooper in his squadron when she has such a gift for engineering and inventing. It was all thanks to PT (with help from JP’s uncanny ability to crawl into small compartments) that they were able to fortify such a space with shields, jammers, lights, and recycled air this far beneath the sands. RK-514 and MR-2941 hauled in the old-but-still-functional generators to keep the power on and the civilian FN-2187 rescued, an Abednedo male named Ilco, has proven to have a gift for locating sealed supply crates in the shadowy corners of the wreckage.

The survivors of Tuanul have begun whispering that their rescue is a true miracle of the Force, that they could not have managed to survive and spend so many hours hiding from the First Order unless the Force had been protecting them. To speak of religion in the First Order is taboo. ( _Protocol RM.N1.18: Subversive fantasies and faiths are strictly forbidden, per the Bylaws of Conformity. Those who break this protocol are guilty of treason, which is punishable by death._ ) It surprises FN-2187 when DH-8067 joins the civilians during their prayers on their first day in the belly of the _Inflictor_ , followed by CR-9084 and TS-6448 a day later.

FN-2187 doesn’t know if he believes in the Force or not, at least not beyond what he’s seen of Lord Ren, who could perhaps be described as the exact opposite of a miracle-worker. However, he knows their luck is running out of time and if the First Order doesn’t entomb them with bombs, then Lord Ren and the deathtroopers will be out for their blood, sure as wolfhounds. They have already cut their water rations in half, then in half again, and their food stores are beginning to run low, as the risk of discovery after three days is far too great to send anyone beyond their shields to retrieve more supplies. If the Force is anything like the civilians believe it to be, they could certainly use its help.

“Sarge,” PT-3140 speaks, startling him from his thoughts. “I’ll keep sending the message as long as you want me to, but I don’t think help is coming. But some of the civs might survive if we sneak them out as Niima’s scavengers before we make a last stand.”

LV-2225, who is standing nearby to guard the entryway near PT’s rudimentary electronics station, snorts derisively. Her pale eyes are as bloodshot as the rest of Alpha-20-Zeta’s from multiple sleepless nights and her hair is begin to fall out of its braid. “I’m not sure why you think any of us are going to make it out of this bunker alive, PT. We’re already buried in a mass grave, if the stories about Jakku are true.”

FN-2187 looks at her sharply. “Don’t say that so loud that the civs hear you, ‘trooper. Panic will only make things worse.”

“But I’m right, Sarge, aren’t I?” She leans against the door and sneers, and if it weren’t for the obvious strain and exhaustion they’ve all been under since the first shot was fired in Tuanul, he would reprimand her and make her quietly stand at parade rest until the end of her watch. That’s what a good leader of the First Order would order her to do, at least. Perhaps he’s less qualified for sergeant leadership than the officers gave him credit for.

He sighs. “I won’t say you’re right or wrong, only that I’m not ready to give up on these people yet. We’ll give it another half-day, and then decide.”

“I mean, we’ve never doubted your judgment before, Sarge,” PT says, “but we’re worried, and hope is not a strategy.” LV makes a sound of agreement.

FN-2187 observes the civilians and ‘troopers on the further end of the room, all trusting his leadership to keep them safe. ZG-1779 makes silly expressions on their face for the children, whose peals of laughter echo around the walls. MR-2941 and DH-8067 seem to be chatting with some of the civilians as they mend torn blankets and clothing together. If any of the civilians or his ‘troopers leave without help from the outside, he knows he will never see many of their faces alive again. He tries to hide it by sleeping apart from the others, but often wakes up with nightmares about the stormtroopers they killed in Tuanul, how bloodless their faces would have looked beneath their helmets, how they screamed as they died. Even worse, he also dreams of Lord Ren cutting through the blast doors like they’re no more protection than butter, then stabbing him in the heart after forcing him to watch his ‘troopers and the civs executed one-by-one. 

“I know hope might seem futile,” he says slowly. “I know it might seem naïve of me to risk so much for it. But hope is the only way all of us will have a chance to get out alive, and I’m not willing to give up on it just yet.” He forces himself to smile, hiding his feelings of bleakness as best as he can. “Can you trust me a bit longer?”

LV shrugs, but stands a little straighter. PT doesn’t return his smile, but makes a promise: “You haven’t failed us yet, Sarge, and we’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

The preparations for Jakku finish at an hour far too late to be properly called nighttime on Yavin-4, but far too early for any sane sentient to call it morning, either. As Mara Jade does a final headcount of her volunteers and their crafts, she notices a familiar face missing from the small crowd of well-wishers seeing them off on their mission.

“Where’s Rey?” she asks Poe, who is loading BB-8 into his X-wing, _Black One_.

“Probably sleeping like the dead, knowing her. She told us she already said her goodbyes last night and that she needed her, and I quote, ‘Force wizard beauty sleep’ and that anyone who bothered her until sunrise would be risking their limbs, so Jess and I thought it better to leave her to it.”

Mara feels unsettled, perhaps because she remembers how upset Rey had been when they told her to stay. Then again, it could also be pre-mission jitters. She may be the best one for the job, but that doesn’t mean she’s eager to return to kriffing _Jakku_ of all places again.

She senses Luke behind her even before he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close to kiss her on the forehead, nose, and lips. She leans against him and sighs, trying to soak up as much of that lovely warmth she feels around him as she can before she’s deprived for who knows how long this time.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” she murmurs.

“I know,” he says. “But I’m trusting you to come back to me in one piece.”

Mara wrinkles her nose and pokes him in the chest. “And I’m trusting _you_ to stay out of trouble without me.”

She sees Lando and R2-D2 arrive behind Luke and calls to Lando, “You keep our old Jedi from being a troublemaker while we’re gone, you hear?”

Lando mock-salutes her, smirking. “I’ll do my best, Lady Jade.” (R2-D2 beeps a reply that sounds distinctly sarcastic.)

Luke rolls his eyes, but kisses her a final time before he lets her go.

The pilots climb into their fighters and the rest board their shuttle, assembling in the entryway to wave one last goodbye to the others.

“May the Force be with you,” Luke shouts, ever the cheesy farm boy at heart.

Mara blows him a kiss and shuts the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Space hymn for the Church of the Force adapted from “Be Not Afraid” lyrics by Barney E. Warren.  
> \- You could say events in this story are about to get a bit… *puts on sunglasses* Forceful.


	4. Skywalkers to the Rescue

When all is said and done, Rose Tico likes the days when she has plenty of mechanical projects to do for the New Republic that keep her away from prying stares and pointless talk such as, “How’s the weather on Yavin-4 today? Still humid and warm? Alright? Alright.” Between the two of them, Paige has always been the better communicator, the one willing to talk and ask more questions than necessary and speak to their superiors on her crew’s behalf. Perhaps that’s why she makes for a better gunner than Rose ever would, even if they both learned how to fly and hit a target with the same simulator on Hays Minor.

Today, she’s making herself useful to Lady Jade-Skywalker’s strike team by doing last-minute adjustments to the shuttle for battle-readiness and defensibility, as the message from the stormtrooper, FN-2-something-whatever, didn’t mention an estimate of the First Order forces deployed to Jakku. For all their sakes, she privately hopes there won’t be many.

Rose opens another electric panel in the shuttle’s storage bay and tinkers with the wires to adjust the shields up as much as they can possibly handle. Another perk of working by herself much of the time: No one minds when she sings as loudly as she wants. 

“ _Well a night planet-side wouldn’t do us any harm… And we’ll all fly on ahead, and we’ll tow the old battleship along, and we’ll all fly on ahead. Well, a nice drop of ‘skee wouldn’t do us any harm—"_

“ _—a nice drop of ‘skee wouldn’t do us any harm!_ ” repeats the panel besides the one she’s working on.

Rose drops her tools with a clatter of metal on metal. She raps her knuckles against it uncertainly. “Hello, singing panel person?”

The singing panel person speaks, “Ah, I thought it would be you down here, Rose. I belatedly realized I don’t fit behind these things as well as I used to and don’t want to damage the ship with the Force. A little help would be much-appreciated?” 

It takes some muscle with a pry bar and Rose’s sturdiest screwdriver, but she eventually opens the panel and finds Rey Skywalker curled up in the impossibly small space, blinking as her eyes adjust to the light.

“What the hell are you doing on the ship, Rey?” Rose asks. Everyone at the base knows the Skywalkers’ foster daughter was ordered to stay on Yavin-4. Then again, everyone who knows Rey knows she came from Jakku originally and that the girl is easily distracted by whatever current events are going on in the galaxy. _Did she know anyone from Tuanul, perhaps?_ Rose wonders.

Rey stretches out, deeply sighing in relief. “I’m going to Jakku, obviously.”

“Your parents aren’t gonna like that, Rey,” Rose says, meeting her mischievous hazel eyes. She has half a thought to comm someone, maybe Rey’s partners or her mother, then thinks better of it when Rey’s expression turns somber.

“I know, I know,” Rey says, her eyes pleading, “but you have to understand—staying on Yavin-4 and going through the same lessons and all that ‘clear your mind’ stuff over and over again would have been utter torture.”

And the thing is, Rose does understand, in a way: If she had known of survivors from Hays Minor and hadn’t been able to help rescue them, she would have worried her mind raw. Thinking of the survivors trapped and surrounded by the First Order pushed her to volunteer for the strike team in the first place, and she can’t fault Rey for feeling the same. She internally groans, but hands Rey a set of gloves and pliers.

“Well, it’s too late to turn around now, but you might as well help me fix up the ship faster,” she says.

Rey brightens. “Aye-aye, Cap’n Tico.”

* * *

Poe relieves Jessika after the first jump through hyperspace, much to her gratitude. She has only just sat down for a light meal when Mara stomps her way up the ladder to the shuttle’s barracks, swearing under her breath in what sounds like Huttese.

“Something wrong?” Jessika asks, setting her tray aside.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mara growls, tugging at her black flight suit as it catches on a sharp edge of a bunk. “My daughter decided to be a stowaway on the shuttle and I only found out because my _husband_ had to comm me about her being truant.”

Jessika’s eyebrows shoot to her forehead. “She kriffing _what_ now,” she says flatly. Honestly, this isn’t the first time her girlfriend has pulled a stowaway stunt, but it’s definitely the first time she’s done so before a potential battle with the fucking _First Order_.

“My thoughts exactly,” says Mara, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And of course, I was too distracted by the Force-cursed mission to notice another Force-sensitive person hiding on board until he pointed it out. Care to provide some backup, Jess?”

Jessika abandons her meal with a sigh, no longer hungry.

Mara uses the Force to trace Rey’s location to the storage bay, where she seems as unconcerned as one could be, working with Rose Tico on the ship’s electrical wiring and humming a song together. As much as Jessika doesn’t want to admit it, it hurts a little, knowing Rey had stowed aboard without telling either of her partners, apparently content to tinker with the ship for hours without announcing her presence. The impulsive, wicked-smart, and coy parts of Rey were what drew Jessika to her in the first place, but it’s become decidedly less attractive to know that her girlfriend is willfully getting into trouble and even worse, putting herself in potential danger after being told not to.

“So, were you going to tell us you were aboard the ship or were you going to pop out right before we arrived at Jakku?” Mara asks, leaning against a stack of crates with her arms crossed.

Rey freezes and looks up guiltily at Mara, then Jessika. “Um, congrats, you caught me?” She smiles uneasily, all teeth and no dimples.

“I’m can use the Force, dear, in case you’d forgotten,” Mara says dryly. “The real question is, why did you turn truant and hide on the ship when Luke and I already discussed why that wasn’t a good idea?”

Rey huffs. A stray bit of hair hangs over her face and Jessika has the urge to tuck it behind her ear, like she normally would when they’re together, but resists because she feels so kriffing upset at the moment. It’s not only that they’re going into a very dangerous rescue mission that potentially pits them against both the First Order and the Hutt Clan, but also the fact that Rey doesn’t seem to realize why her repeated impulsivity would make those who care about her worried and angry.

“Look, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I had to join the team because the Force told me to,” Rey says, moving closer to Mara and Jessika while Rose Tico obviously pretends not to be eavesdropping in the background.

“The Force… told you to?” Jessika asks her, skeptical.

“I had a vision of the survivors and I know where they are,” Rey says.

“Yeah, somewhere on the _Inflictor_ ,” Mara says, looking unimpressed. “I already knew that.”

Rey shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand: I had a vision of _exactly_ where they are and know how to get there because of my scavenger years, too. When we get to Jakku, you’ll need my help.”

“You could have just given us the details by comm or message, or hey, told us before we actually left,” Jessika snaps. “You didn’t have to invite yourself on board without asking.”

“This is a Force thing, Jess,” Rey snaps back, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Jessika flinches and Rey at least has the decency to look apologetic as soon as the words are out of her mouth. The women frown at each other for a moment before Jessika takes a step towards her and says, “Fine. But this isn’t the first time you’ve pulled a bantha-brained stunt like this and I’m getting mighty tired of taking the fall every time and having to argue for you to be trusted with going off-world.”

Now Rey steps forward and scowls. “You don’t control me, Jess.”

“I have the right to be worried about my _undertrained girlfriend’s continued safety_ , Rey. Poe would think so, too.” 

Mara steps between them, throwing out her arms to force them to give each other extra space. Jess might be upset and angry and Rey might look defensive, but Mara looks kriffing _pissed_ , her brows drawn together and her stance as if readying to grab them both by the ears. “Alright, enough. Your tetchiness is neither productive nor going anywhere and I don’t want in-fighting from my crew.” She turns to Rey and says, “Since we can’t turn around, I’m reluctantly forced to let you come along and make yourself as useful as possible. Don’t make me regret it. Also, you have quite the apology to make to Luke once you return, so you might use the rest of the time to Jakku and back thinking of what to say.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jessika spots Rose attempting to quietly sneak out of the bay and thinks to comment on it, but Mara beats her to it: “And you! Miss Tico, you know better than to let an uninvited passenger go unannounced. It could have compromised the entire mission.”

Rose snaps to attention and looks down, her lower lip quivering. “I’m sorry, Lady Jade-Skywalker,” she says quietly. “I was being selfish and thinking of Hays Minor.”

Mara’s expression softens and Jessika winces. No one likes remembering the day the Tico sisters lost everything except for each other. Crossing the bay to Rose in a few swift steps, Mara tilts the mechanic’s chin up and says, “I know some choices are harder than others, but for the sake of my team, I need to be able to trust you to tell me important things like this. Can you do that for me, Rose?”

She nods, then makes a hasty escape from the bay as soon as Mara dismisses her.

“We’ll be jumping to Jakku soon,” Mara tells Jessika and Rey. “Try to remain civil with each other until this mission is over, please. Rey, you’re searching the _Inflictor_ with me once we land, but don’t think that means this conversation is over.” She stalks away, leaving them in a tense silence.

* * *

“We’re out of water, and Themba says her child is no longer trying to nurse,” RK-514 tells FN-2187, indicating the woman and infant JP-953 rescued. “We need to make our next move and make it fast.”

He’s right, as much as FN-2187 hates to say it. They’ve held out for almost another half-day, but their luck has officially run out. “I don’t know how many of the civs will want to do something so risky without us, even if it’s to save themselves.”

“They have no choice if they want another chance to live,” PT-3410 points out. A strained expression hovers around her eyes as she watches HL-2407, CR-9084, and MR-2941 playing a clapping game with some of the children, their helmets off and hair loosened. “Keep your promise, Sarge.”

FN-2187 sighs, mentally preparing for the hardest thing he has ever had to decide in his life. In the First Order, love isn’t ever discussed or mentioned, so it’s not easy for a ‘trooper to describe except in terms they’ve only heard from holodramas. If there’s one thing he knows as a sure truth in this galaxy, it’s that every last member of Alpha-20-Zeta has a permanent place in his heart. While, the thought of them making their last stand together warms him, he wishes they had been given more time to be free of Lord Ren and Captain Phasma and the endless waiting and intermittent moments of violent horror the First Order demands of them. He stands on one of the empty supply crates and clears his throat as the room grows quiet:

“Alright, listen up, there’s been a change of plans—”

_THUMP-THUMP-THUMP._

Everyone jumps as the unmistakable sound of knocking rattles the blast doors near PT’s station. Some of the children scream and are immediately shushed by the others as the knocking continues.

FN-2187 motions for ZG-1779 and DH-8067 to follow him to the blast doors, as they have the best blaster accuracy of the squadron. They form a defensive position around the door while the other members of the squadron take their places to defend the civilians.

The knocking stops, and they all breathe a sigh of relief, hoping that means the First Order has moved on in their search. And then the sound is replaced by something much worse: The hiss and smell of burning metal as a lightsaber cuts through the blast doors.

Despair like lead sinks in FN-2187’s gut as he watches the lightsaber cut through the doors like they’re no more than butter. He jumps out of the way right as they fall with a crash and a scatter of embers and smoke. This time, no one bothers to stop the civilians from screaming. He signals his ‘troopers to ready their blasters at the shadowy figures in the doorway, hoping death will be quick.

Blasters and a strange, staff-like weapon are tossed into the room on top of the fallen doors.

“Easy, easy!” calls someone from beyond the doorway. “We’re from the New Republic. We’re unarmed and we’re coming in.”

Easier to say than to trust.

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” FN-2187 shouts back.

Three Humans, two women and a man, walk into the room, arms on top of their heads. The fierce-looking red-haired woman in a black flight suit emblazoned with the New Republic’s starbird looks older, somewhere between Lord Ren and Lor San Tekka’s age, but the man with brown, thickly curling hair in an orange flight suit and brown leather jacket seems a bit closer to his age. Only years of training prevents him from dropping his blaster when he examines the younger woman, because although it is impossible, he _recognizes_ her.

She’s the shadowy Jedi he thought he had only hallucinated from a trick of the light, only now very much in the flesh and wearing pale robes, her hair still in their distinctive three buns and her bright hazel eyes widening as they meet his.

“Stand down, squad, I think they’re here to help,” he says, lowering his blaster. There’s a shuffle as the rest of Alpha-20-Zeta follow his lead. “Who are you?” he asks the young woman, knowing that as the lone commander in the room, it would probably be more proper to direct the question to the commanding-looking woman who arrived with her.

She smiles at him, her freckled cheeks dimpling, and his heart catches in his throat to see it. “I’m Rey Skywalker and we’re here to rescue you.”

After that, introductions and plans move along much more swiftly. The older woman, Mara Jade-Skywalker, helps the civilians ready to leave. Poe Dameron, the man who arrived with them, works with the rest of Alpha-20-Zeta. Rey retrieves Poe’s blaster and her weapon, which upon closer inspection FN-2187 notes isn’t a strange staff as much as a strange lightsaber of some sort. She hovers near Poe’s elbow, looking pleased with herself, whereas Poe always keeps a hand close to his blaster.

“So you’re the ‘trooper from the message we intercepted, huh?” Poe says, regarding him with his dark eyes. FN-2187 shifts uncomfortably under his close scrutiny, but nods. “FN-2187, right? What else should we call you?”

FN-2187 shrugs. “That’s the only name I have. Sometimes my ‘troopers call me Sarge instead of Sergeant, I guess.”

“But you’re a sentient person, not a thing,” Rey says, her eyes wide. “Only things get serial numbers, ‘trooper. Even the scavengers here understand that.”

“Hey, FN, _F-N_ , how about Finn, Sergeant?” Poe asks him.

Nicknames are another taboo in the First Order, but FN-2187 supposes that allying with the New Republic after disobeying a direct order from Kylo Ren probably means it’s alright to bend a few rules from now on. Phasma isn’t here to call him out on breaking a taboo or a few. He smiles crookedly. “Sure, call me Finn.”

Poe claps him on the back and turns to rest of the 'troopers. "And what about the rest of you? You also don't want to be a number forever, right?"

They look at each other uncertainly, but PT is the first one to say, "Guess I'm Petey, then."

"Ark," says RK.

"And I'm Zig!" ZG chimes in, grinning. "I think I'm getting the hang of this name game."

"Seer," adds CR, turning away to shout at where the civilians are gathering, “Oi, HL, get your ass back over here! Sarge is finally letting us have nicknames!”

HL, arms full of civilian packs, dashes back so quickly that she runs into Rey in her haste to muster with the rest of the squad. “Oops, sorry, you are again?” she asks Rey, giving her a hand up.

“Hi, I’m Rey.”

HL blushes as Rey smiles at her. “Um, hi Gay, I’m yes? _Ah dosh it,_ I mean, Hal.”

"Whatever, I'm Lav, I guess," says LV, snorting derisively.

(Finn overhears Hal whisper to Seer, _“Oh my Snoke, I can’t believe I actually said that. I think that smile made my brain melt.”_ Honestly, he does have to admit that Rey has a very nice smile, bright and toothy, her eyes crinkling as though she has just overheard a particularly good joke.)

"I’m Juup," JP-953 says. “It sounds a bit like those juniper plants they grow back on the base.”

"Duha," murmurs DH, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

"Mor, thanks," adds MR, sliding her helmet on over her dark braids.

"I have no idea," TS says, wringing his finned fingers in distress.

Rey hums as she thinks. "Alright if we call you Teonas for now? I’ve always thought that name sounded nice. But you can always change your names later, you know.”

Teonas shrugs, but flushes a pleased dark violet. "Alright."

"Our escape plan was to have the civs sneak out disguised as scavengers while we draw fire from the First Order," says Finn, checking the power on his blaster an unnecessary fifth time that day. "What's yours?"

"Oh, that's my gig," Mara says, walking up to him. Finn notices the shape of a lightsaber tucked within a pocket of her flight suit and is embarrassed he didn't notice it sooner. "We have a modded shuttle and fighters to provide air support and covering fire. The idea isn't that we stand and fight the forces here; it's that we get the hell off-planet as soon as kriffing possible because we're in Hutt Clan turf _and_ have the First Order out for your blood. Speaking of which, it's long past time for you to get back to your fighter, Dameron."

Poe salutes and leaves through the still-smoldering doorway, though not before turning to Finn and the 'troopers to say, "Try to have better odds at surviving today than the likelihood of your blasters firing accurately, okay?"

“And how ‘bout _you_ focus on not getting your Rebel-ass X-wing shot out of the sky!” Zig calls after him, before Finn thinks to tell them to not retaliate. 

"Well, Sergeant, think you all are ready to move, and move fast?" Mara asks him.

Finn looks over the people in the room, a motley crew of ex-stormtroopers, religious civilians, and New Republic allies and thinks that maybe, just maybe the believers were right to trust in the Force after all.

* * *

Niima’s people escort Kylo, his deathtroopers, and the remaining stormtroopers all the way to the entrance of the _Inflictor_ ’s wreckage before taking several steps back, watching him.

“You’re not going to follow us in?” Kylo asks the Twi’lek messenger, who vehemently shakes their head.

“We are here to make sure the agreement is honored. No more, no less.”

“Have it your way,” says Kylo, adjusting his helmet and striding into the rusted and shadowy behemoth. A part of him wonders if such a haunted place as the _Inflictor_ , the final resting place of thousands, might just be the ideal place for the weird Jedi ghost to harass him again, right when he least needs it, but fortunately the ghost makes no attempt to appear, even as he and the ‘troopers descend further and further into the ship, using flashlights to search every nook, crevice, or probable hiding place of the traitors.

They eventually find their way to an empty, open hall dimly lit by distant sunlight through fallen panels from the high ceiling. Parts of the floor have collapsed, revealing other rooms and hallways below. Kylo supposes that back in the Empire’s heyday, it might have been used as a place to assemble forces or perhaps store extra ships and ground machinery, now since pilfered by Niima’s scavengers. As a Force warrior, Kylo’s hearing is also more sensitive in the others, even with the help of helmets. He raises his hand to halt the ‘troopers as he hears a distant shuffling sound. They wait, completely silent, as the sound draws closer.

There’s a sound like boots skidding against sand and metal, and then a dark-haired man in a New Republic-issue orange suit rounds a distant corner into the hall, stumbling to a stop when he sees Kylo in front of the other ‘troopers.

 _Well, isn’t that interesting_ , Kylo thinks, igniting his lightsaber. “I want him alive,” he tells the deathtroopers, who have him as brightly lit up with the sights on their blasters as a Life Day holiday decoration.

“Team, we’ve got company, east side,” the man says into his comlink, surprisingly calm despite the precarious position he’s in. “And I _think_ one of them is a Sith.”

“I’m not a Sith,” says Kylo. “Drop your weapons and come quietly or die.”

The man gives a long sigh, moving his hands towards his gear belt. “Well, when you put it that way—"

Kylo is fast enough to duck the blaster shot aimed for his chest, but the deathtrooper behind him drops from an unlucky hit to the less-protected place between his armor and helmet. The others open fire as the man drops a smoke bomb and disappears. Or at least, he tries to. Kylo hears the clang of metal against metal above them.

“He’s above us! Activate the smoke screens on your visors!”

Several rounds of blaster fire follow the man, but he’s moving too quickly with what Kylo assumes is grappling gear of some sort for them to know if they hit him or not.

 _Damn!_ “Rebel in orange flight suit en route to exit the _Inflictor_ on the east side, potential for additional Rebel backup, fire at will,” Kylo commands the forces outside on his own comlink. “We will follow the trail backwards to the traitors.”

A familiar voice echoes from the same hallway from which the man entered: “Ah, but you forget that trails can be followed both ways. Hello, nephew,” says Mara Jade, purple lightsaber at the ready. A pretty, dark-haired girl in pale Jedi apprentice robes follows closely behind her, eyeing him and the deathtroopers warily. Kylo doesn’t see any civilians or signs of the traitors with them and internally curses himself for falling so easily for a distraction.

He rapidly orders his deathtroopers to find another way further into the _Inflictor_ to track traitors while he deals with Mara. To the credit of their superior training, they don’t question him or (even more embarrassingly), try to offer backup support while he deals with his aunt. Kylo readies himself to duel while their footsteps fade away.

“I’m afraid your fancy ‘troopers will be too late to find them,” says Mara, looking amused. “But if you’d also like to get your ass kicked by me all over again, then sure, let’s go.”

“Who’s the girl?” asks Kylo, stalling for time while he moves towards a higher vantage point against her. He hasn’t sparred with his aunt since he was a teenager, but he still remembers the bruises.

Mara’s smile turns feral. “Oh, right, you haven’t met. Ben, meet my daughter and your cousin, Rey Skywalker. Of course, she takes after us more than just in name.”

Rey steps forward, igniting a blue, double-bladed lightsaber. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Ben Organa Solo,” she says quietly.

“I’m not Ben Organa Solo anymore,” Kylo says, then leaps to aim a downward strike at Rey’s shoulder.

Rey narrowly manages to block him in time, brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to hold him off in spite of his added strength and height against her. She’s the weakest link, if her apprentice robes are anything to judge by; she’ll be easier to take down.

Mara swoops in like an eagle, aiming for his legs. Kylo pushes Rey roughly to the ground then spins around to block Mara’s attack. In his peripheral vision, he sees Rey struggle to her feet and this time, he uses the Force to blast her back into a wall while he meets Mara’s next strike with his lightsaber.

 _Honestly, were they thinking two-on-one against Snoke’s finest warrior would be easier?_ Kylo has half a mind to laugh. This is nothing like sparring with the others on Yavin-4. No, the Dark Side has made him grow much stronger in the Force, and if anything, being able to hold his own here is proof alone that the Light Side was limiting his power.

“Rey, get out of here and help the others,” Mara shouts as she lifts her lightsaber against his downstrike. “I’ll hold him off.”

“No! I won’t leave you,” the girl cries, leaping back towards Kylo. Admittedly, it’s a brave thing for her to stay and fight him, but he also thinks this silly slip of an apprentice is very stupid to stay in a fight where she’s obviously out-matched. (A more ruthlessly violent part of him asks why he didn’t just throw her from a more lethal height instead of tossing her away from the duel with Mara, why he didn’t simply go for a killing move when he had the opportunity, but he shuts that part of his brain up. His aunt is the bigger priority, after all.)

“You’re becoming a nuisance,” Kylo says to Rey, and twists with his lightsaber, trying to force her to jump out of the way again.

He misjudges how close she is; he hears screaming and feels the air shift as someone moves, then feels his lightsaber bite through skin and bone, followed by a horrible acrid smell of burning flesh. 

Mara Jade loses all color in her face and collapses against Rey’s knees, her hand and lightsaber lying uselessly on the ground.

Kylo’s victory over Mara is immediately dashed by Rey jumping directly at him, whirling her lightsaber in a glowing blur, a murderous look flashing in her eyes. (Perhaps, a part of him wonders, the Skywalker family might have more of the Dark Side in it than they think.)

She forces him back by sheer speed and surprise, but they both know she doesn’t have the strength to keep him at bay forever, even with anger fueling her. It’s almost like a dance, the way she keeps pushing him back and he holds against her, slowly tiring her out.

“You’re more impressive than I thought,” he tells her, almost lazily blocking her strike for strike. “You would do very well in the First Order.”

“Like hell I’d ever join you,” Rey spits at him, her face reddening with fury. She spins the lightsaber one-handed, almost parallel to his body, and he has a brief moment to wonder why she would do something so obviously unguarded and stupid before he feels something strong wrap around his left leg and he ungracefully topples over through a collapsed part of the floor, his lightsaber clanging below. He’s dangling by the leg from a grappling cable Rey holds in her hands. Slowly, he looks up and meets her cool stare.

Judging by the look she’s giving him alone, she’s going to kill him and take his limbs back to his parents as proof. (Probably.)

Instead, much to his surprise and relief, followed by a distinct sense of not-relief and falling, she retracts the cable from his leg and lets him drop. It’s a long fall, but not so long that he has enough time to react and cling to something.

Kylo slams into a pile of debris, metal slicing his face with a sharp, searing pain before his breath and consciousness are knocked from him. 

* * *

Even with trying to be as cautious as possible on his way to _Black One_ , Poe gets pinned down near the front entrance of the _Inflictor_ by the squadrons of stormtroopers waiting outside.

“Jess, I could use a little covering fire, please,” he says to her through his comm, hoping that Finn has been able to get the civilians out through an alternative exit without running into the deathtroopers or the Sith-dude-whatever-he-is. He was lucky enough to escape their blaster fire with only a graze on his leg that’s oozing slightly. Nothing that a bacta patch can’t fix, anyhow.

What bacta can’t fix is all the blaster holes he’ll be riddled with if he attempts a run for it to the temporary landing site the strike team chose to the north of the _Inflictor_.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Jess grouses over the comm. “What happened to ‘quickly in and out so they’re none the wiser’, Dameron?”

“We’re all on an isolated comm system and the jammers didn’t allow us know when the First Order was suddenly hot on our asses; don’t blame me for that, kriff it.”

“Alright, be ready to run for it in _three, two, one—_ ”

Sand and stormtroopers scatter as Jess swoops overhead in her X-wing, the _Testy Destroyer_ , opening fire from the laser canons.

Poe sprints towards his ship at a pace that would make his old drill sergeants very proud. When he finally makes it back to _Black One_ , he is out of breath, but mostly unscathed.

Jess’s voice crackles over his comlink. “If you’re back in your ship, then get your ass in the air and help me before I get shot out of the sky, please.”

Poe rolls his eyes but manages to find her pretty quickly because she’s actively trying to dodge what looks like a very strange dogfight between her ship and the First Order ground troops, while onlookers who must be from Niima’s Outpost look on. He aims at the First Order’s anti-aircraft guns and whoops when he knocks them out on his first try.

“Lucky hit, Dameron,” Jess says. “Now where are the people we’re rescuing?”

“We’re supposed to look for them on the top of the middle of the _Inflictor_ add covering fire while they run north to the shuttle.” Poe veers a hard right to dodge a laser cannon shooting at him from the ground.

“Sounds simple enough. Where the hell are they?”

Poe switches the comm over to the ex-trooper’s link, encrypted specially by Petey. “Doing alright in there, Sergeant Finn?” he asks.

“Aside from avoiding all the doshing deathtroopers, it’s delightful,” Finn says dryly. “We’re almost there, hang on.”

“There, I see them! On your one o’clock,” Jess yells.

Directly below and just a bit off at an angle from his ship are the sure signs of people moving around on top of the _Inflictor_ , moving as rapidly north as a crew of civilians and ex-stormtroopers can manage. Poe notices, then, the group of deathtroopers climbing up and running after them, their distinctive uniforms and helmets dark against the _Inflictor’s_ bleached metal. 

“Finn, you’ve got deathtroopers on your six!” he shouts.

“And you’ve got TIE fighters incoming from the skies, pilot,” Finn yells back.

He’s right: Incoming is a squadron of three TIE fighters, already blasting their lasers at a ferocious speed. Poe swears and shifts his lasers to fire back. He hits one on the wing and it drops to the sands in a ball of fire.

“Still think my hits are just lucky today?” he snarks to Jess over the comm.

“Shut up and hit another one, Black Leader,” she tells him. He watches her force her X-wing into a spiral to out-maneuver the two remaining TIE fighters and he takes advantage to pick off another one with a hit to its central engine.

“Um, a little help?” Finn wheezes over the comm. The comlink picks up the sound of blaster fire on Finn’s end of things.

“Jess, you handle the last one, I’ve got deathtroopers on my plate,” Poe says, looping back over the _Inflictor_. He sees the civilians first, still fleeing towards the shuttle while the ex-troopers are pinned down by the deathtroopers and exchanging fire while the civilians escape. A nasty thought, one brought on by years of conflict with stormtroopers who look just like the ones he’s tentatively allied with, crosses his mind to leave the ex-troopers to their fate while he escorts the civilians to the shuttle. Only his father’s words make him turn back to the deathtroopers and open fire.

Finn whoops over the comm. “Thanks, Poe. I owe you one.” He watches the ex-troopers dash across the ship, their white armor a sharp contrast to the black armor of the ‘troopers he just shot down.

“More TIE fighters incoming!” Jess yells.

Poe comms Paige Tico in the modified gunports of the shuttle. “Get the civilians on the shuttle and up in the air and defending itself _now_ , before all of you are sitting ducks _._ ”

“Roger that, Black Leader,” Paige Tico replies.

Poe finds himself too preoccupied with dodging and firing on the TIE fighters to really pay attention to what’s happening, but is jarred out of his focus when he hears Finn’s voice over the comm: “I got hit on the leg. I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the shuttle in time, Poe.”

Against his usual instincts, Poe finds himself urging the sergeant on. “You’ve got to try, Finn. Your ‘troopers are all counting on you.”

“I’m hobbling, but I’ll try my damndest,” Finn says.

“I’ll cover you,” Poe promises, already locating where the ex-trooper is ambling his way towards the shuttle well behind the rest. He watches the tiny figures of the ex-troopers escape inside the shuttle, but Finn is still too far behind them and it rises so Paige Tico can properly open the gunports, though the shuttle ramp is still down for when they need to land again for the stragglers.

“I’m gonna jump for it,” Finn says, a determined edge in his voice. 

“Finn, dude, it’s too far now. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Poe says. He’s _actually_ worried about a stormtrooper seriously injuring himself. 

“Jumping now!” Finn shouts. Poe watches the small, shambling figure in white armor make an impossibly high leap and grab on to the edge of the shuttle ramp. Willing hands help him up the rest of the way into the shuttle.

“Uhm, you know that was physically impossible to do, right?” Poe asks.

“Yeah, but I managed it,” Finn says, then swears loudly. “Oh doshing hell. They have bombers.”

Poe’s heart sinks as he sees the distinct outline of several First Order bombers arrive on the horizon, aiming directly for the _Inflictor_ and the escapee shuttle. Rey and Mara still haven’t emerged from the _Inflictor_ yet, and now there are more than enough ships to bomb the ruined Star Destroyer to rubble.

“Rey? Rey _Force-_ _damned_ Skywalker! Get the hell out of there now!”

She doesn’t respond, even after he repeats the warning a second and a third time, fear and despair mounting as he faces the new enemy.

* * *

Rey lost her comm somewhere below in the _Inflictor_ while fighting Ben Solo, alias _Kylo Ren_ , but doesn’t bother to search for it. She props Mara up on her shoulder as they stumble to the surface, her foster mother fading in and out of consciousness from the pain.

The only thing Rey thinks to retrieve is Mara’s lightsaber. She has to force back waves of nausea as she pries it from Mara’s severed hand.

She leaves Kylo behind where he fell. Ben Solo or not, he deserves to be abandoned like the rest of the garbage. Maybe an unlucky scavenger will stumble upon him, she thinks savagely.

They exit the _Inflictor_ into Jakku’s familiarly blinding sunlight and are almost immediately surrounded by stormtroopers.

Rey sighs, props Mara up against the side of the Star Destroyer, and ignites her lightsaber. She’s almost too tired to lift it. All she wants to do is curl up in the sand and sleep. “I don’t suppose you might let me fight you one-by-one?” she asks them, forcing courage into her voice that she doesn’t really feel.

There’s a chorus of safeties clicked off in response.

Rey sighs again, raising her lightsaber defensively in front of Mara’s body. “Worth a try, I suppose,” she mutters.

As she pulls together her last dregs of energy to fight, she hears starships fly overhead. Her heart sinks as she sees a First Order bomber thunder over them first, then lifts in wild hope as she sees three New Republic gunships and a full squadron of fighters in hot pursuit. The shuttle from Yavin-4 flies over last, hovering over the sands to begin landing.

Without really thinking about it, Rey blasts the stormtroopers away with a new surge of the Force, then drags Mara towards the shuttle.

“Need a hand?” Finn calls to her from the shuttle ramp. 

She grimaces. “You have _no idea_ how inappropriate that question is right now, but _yes_.”

With help from the rest of the ex-troopers, she gratefully collapses to the shuttle floor and watches Mara get carried to the medbay by dozens of willing people, both civilian and ‘trooper.

* * *

“I have new orders from the Madame,” Erso Nest says to her mother, putting on the family’s distinctive skull-like mask, sheep’s wool cape, and beskar armor plates. The Cloud Riders will ride again tonight against the First Order.

“So soon?” Enfys asks, looking up from her datapad. Her mother’s hair is more white than red these days, and the brown, freckled skin of her hands looks thinner, more translucent. She doesn’t ever think of her mother as weak (it would be impossible for _Enfys Nest_ of all people to be weak), but hopes the others will once again care for her while she carries out the Madame’s new mission.

“She’s sent word about Jakku. It’s time for us to spark a new rebellion and end the First Order once and for all.”

Enfys smiles, the laugh lines deep on her face. “Ah, I really do miss those days.” She playfully shoos Erso out the door of their small home on Savareen. “Go, go! And light as many rebellious fires as there are stars in the galaxy.”

* * *

[ _Messages printed on propaganda fliers, dropped over the First Order training grounds of Prefsbelt IV_ _First Order Training Academy_ ]

NEWS FROM THE FREE: STORMTROOPERS RISE UP AGAINST THEIR COMMANDERS ON JAKKU!

STORMTROOPERS ORDERED TO MASSACRE THE HOLY COMMUNITY OF TUANUL REFUSE TO MURDER! THEY SAVED UNARMED CHILDREN AND ELDERS FROM CERTAIN DEATH, DEFYING THE ORDERS OF KYLO REN HIMSELF!

AGAINST THE ODDS, ALL STORMTROOPERS WHO DEFIED THE FIRST ORDER SURVIVE ON JAKKU FOR THREE DAYS AND THREE NIGHTS AND ARE RESCUED BY HEROES OF THE NEW REPUBLIC!

YOUR COMMANDING OFFICERS DO NOT OWN YOU. YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR SERIAL NUMBERS. YOU CAN RISE UP, YOU CAN DEFY THEM, AND YOU CAN LIVE FREELY.

RISE, PREFSBELT, AND THROW OFF YOUR SHACKLES!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Rose’s song adapted from the “Roll the Old Chariot Along” sea shanty. ‘Skee = Starfire ‘skee, a type of booze served on Coruscant.  
> \- Rey’s real lightsaber is double-bladed and built similarly to her quarterstaff in heft and length since she’s used to that fighting style. Headcanon is that she can turn on one side of the blade or both sides depending on how much maneuvering room she has for fighting with it. (Bite me, Disney.)  
> \- After the events of Solo, Enfys Nest gave Saw Gerrera and Jyn Erso the coaxium for the rebellion against the Empire, so it makes sense to me that Enfys likely met Jyn at some point and learned Jyn’s part in the events of Rogue One. I’m passing on Jyn’s name and her and Enfys’s rebellious attitudes to the next generation cuz, as the tag says, in this AU I can do what I want.


	5. Old Scars and New Wounds

The first thing Kylo notices once he awakes from his unconsciousness is pain radiating down the right side of his face like fire. He gingerly reaches up and feels a thin line of bacta bisecting his face from his forehead to his chin.

“You’re lucky it missed your eye,” Hux says.

The next thing he notices is that he’s no longer in the _Inflictor_ , nor on Jakku, but in the familiar bedroom of his quarters on F.O. Battle Base One. Hux is standing in the doorway at parade rest, watching him placidly. Honestly, sometimes he wonders if the man is propped up entirely by hair gel and uniform starch. Phasma stands next to him with her distinctive helmet in her hands. He knows it’s rare for her to remove it around anyone, even them, as she prefers few knowing that beneath the silver armor is a tall Human woman with curly blonde hair and guileless blue eyes.

Out of habit, he reaches for his lightsaber and has a moment of shifting panic when he doesn’t feel it on his belt.

“On your nightstand,” Hux says, pointing to where it rests next to Darth Vader’s ruined helmet.

Kylo attempts to grab it with the Force. It rolls slightly and stops; he’s still too drained. It’s embarrassing to have to reach for it, but he still feels better once it’s locked into its holster again. “What happened on Jakku?” he demands of them, wincing at how scratchy his voice sounds. He may be lying in bed like an invalid, but he’s still their superior officer and deserves to find out how he ended up here, kriff it.

Phasma salutes smartly, and gives a bare-bones report, as is her style: “After you stopped responding to your comlink, it appeared the New Republic forces helping the traitors were outnumbered, especially with a squadron of bombers and TIE fighters reinforcing our troops after the loss of the deathtroopers on the _Inflictor_.”

“And what of the girl, Rey Skywalker, and Mara Jade?” Kylo asks. He can already see the answer from their body language, but needs to know all the same. He remembers the way the girl’s eyes glittered with anger as she fought him, the casual way she had tricked him with scavenger gear of all things.

“Our surviving ‘troopers say they had them surrounded, but unfortunately, they escaped when reinforcements from the New Republic arrived.”

“Reinforcements? But I thought it was just a team of fighters and a shuttle from Yavin-4. They’re notoriously tight-fisted with any troops who could be maintaining the blockade.”

“Regardless, Lord Ren,” Phasma says, “Reinforcements did arrive and bought time for the traitors and the civilians from Tuanul to escape, along with Mara Jade and Rey Skywalker. Niima’s people recorded it as proof. Also, they say our bomber violated Niima’s airspace and as such, we are also responsible for compensating them for the damage done to the _Inflictor._ ”

Kylo strangles his sheets in his hands. “New Republic blockade or not, we cannot allow the traitors and those from Tuanul to track our plans while they’re still in their infancy. I will arrange a meeting with Snoke and we will develop a plan to destroy Yavin-4 once and for all. Now, leave me until I send for you.”

Hux instructs a subordinate officer to tend to Kylo’s needs while he recuperates and leaves to type a pile of memos or starch his uniform or whatever the man does in his free time.

Phasma adds, “I’ll personally organize a task force for the traitors and make sure they pay for their disloyalty. They will realize what it truly means to defy the First Order.” She slams her helmet back on and stalks off.

Kylo takes one look at his marred face in his nightstand mirror and shatters it with the butt of his lightsaber. The officer, well-educated on his moods, quietly leaves to find a cleaning droid.

“Wow, a bit upset, are we?” The Jedi ghost is back, sitting cross-legged on Kylo’s rug.

More or less alone at last, Kylo loudly groans. “Of all the things I could have brought back from Jakku, why the hell is it you?”

The ghost shrugs, the movement rippling like static through a holo. “I’d rather not watch you slowly ruin your life, either, but I seem to be stuck to your Force energy and can’t leave to find pleasanter places. A shame; Naboo is lovely this time of year.” The ghost walks towards him, examining his face closely. “You know, scars aren’t the end of the world. You were fortunate to survive.”

“What the hell do you know?” Kylo snarls. The ghost smiles, raising a hand to a pale blue scar near his hairline that doesn’t quite match Kylo’s own.

“So, who gave you the mark?”

Kylo makes a face. “You’re attached to my Force-sensitivity but still somehow missed out on all of the action?”

“Look, kid, I know about as much as you do on how this Force nonsense works. In the interest of making my after-life existence even slightly more entertaining, I’ll share first: I got mine from an assassin during the Clone Wars. My wife thought it made me look dashing.”

 _Oh, what the hell_ , Kylo thinks, sinking back into his pillows. “Got mine from a lady, too, named Rey Skywalker.”

The ghost freezes. “A Skywalker, hmm? Any relation to the infamous Jedi Luke Skywalker?”

“His daughter,” Kylo clarifies. The ghost says nothing in response and looks thoughtful. Kylo sighs, admitting, “She tricked me.”

“Ah, how unfortunate that she did,” says the ghost, and Kylo honestly can’t tell if his sympathetic tone is sarcastic or not. “Have you given any thought to my name?”

“I was knocked unconscious. So, no.”

The ghost chuckles (the sympathy was _definitely_ sarcastic, kriff him) and fades away as the officer and a cleaning droid return.

Irritation at being haunted by an annoying Jedi ghost whenever he’s alone finally motivates Kylo to get out of bed and contact Snoke.

_Imperial Majesty, great teacher, I humbly request a meeting between us and the leading officers. There is much to discuss._

Snoke’s response is delayed, but eventually returns through their telepathic bond. _Any time between the second meal and third meal, my young apprentice. My time will be otherwise occupied this evening._

 _Thank you, Glorious Leader_.

* * *

”I need a doshing drink, or maybe a half-dozen,” Hux tells Phasma as soon as they can escape the tomb-like confines of the meeting room, darkened so Snoke’s holo projects more brightly than usual. Kylo had invited Admiral Thrawn to the meeting for the first time, and the bellend had been practically preening the entire time over the honor. Hux is wise enough to admit that Admiral Thrawn’s navy was sorely needed by the First Order once the New Republic put the blockade in place, but he still hates the man, and especially hates the way Kylo has become so fixated on and trusting of him over the past year. It takes a deeply paranoid schemer to know one, after all.

“I think we’ll need the best bottle of Raava on the base to forget how many times Lord Ren and the Admiral said _Glorious Leader_ in that meeting,” Phasma agrees, practically marching double-time to the nearest bar on the base.

They settle into their usual booth, always free for the taking because no one else would dare to be found sitting in Captain Phasma and General Hux’s favorite spot if they wanted to avoid a beating. Another perk to having their own booth: It’s secluded away from the rabble who get drunk on the cheapest special and loudly bellow drinking songs as soon as their shifts are finished.

“ _We are, we are, we are, we are  
We are the stormtroopers!  
We can, we can, we can, we can  
Demolish ninety beers!  
Drink grog, drink grog, drink grog all day  
And come along with us, for—  
We don’t give a dosh for any old Reb’  
Who don’t give a dosh for us!”_

Sharing command of the newly-christened _Starkiller Base_ project with Kylo Ren has made Hux and Phasma rivals by nature, friends by proximity. Kylo is often off on some Force warrior mission or something, so he and Phasma developed a habit of getting shitfaced on expensive liquor while complaining to each other in Concordian about their mutual superior officer.

“Seriously, all of _that_ bowing and scraping because Kylo wants to trust some bit of map he robbed off a Reb’s corpse,” Hux says. “We’d be better off training our navy on better maneuvers and looking for more sources of kyber in the Outer Rim, not some wild pharple chase.”

Phasma removes her helmet and drinks deeply from the bottle they’re sharing. “Ugh, tell me about it. And then Kylo had to get it in Snoke’s head that this Rey Skywalker girl might actually turn to the Dark Side. Meaning, more work for my troops because we can’t just kill her and be done with it. Tell me when Kylo will wake up and realize the only reason why Snoke returned from retirement as the over-gilded thorn in our arses is that we have a monopoly on _Sith and the City_ re-runs after third meal every night.”

“I’ll tell you when as soon as you tell me when I’ll wake up from finding our Force warrior stupidly attractive.” Hux has to take another swig as soon as he says it.

“Don’t _even_ remind me. Kriff, I’m glad I don’t have _that_ problem.”

“It could be worse,” Hux points out, the Raava finally crossing into his brain and helping him forget the hours they spent kneeling in the meeting room while Kylo pranced around in his cape before Snoke’s holo. “I could’ve been cursed with a thing for our _Glorious Leader_ himself.”

Phasma pretends to gag. “That’s a horrendous mental image. Honestly, you should be ashamed.”

“I think I lost all shame when I realized I had a specific type for angsty Sith wannabes with amazing hair. Yunno, based on my questionable taste alone, sometimes I do wish I were a little less gay.”

“Can’t relate,” says Phasma. She seems to be taking advantage of her height to take note of potential pretty ‘troopers hanging around the bar. “Not that you’d have much of a chance with women as long as I’m around, Armitage.”

Hux miserably thinks of how good Kylo had looked this morning sans-uniform, the way his broad shoulders had flexed as he moved. Not for the first time, he curses himself for being foolish enough to develop a crush on his moody, shithead diva of a boss. Phasma might rag on him during these bar outings for his extremely poor taste, but it’s nothing compared to his self-flagellation over it. “Like I’d even know what to do with a woman. It’s not like a have a line of bottoms waiting to hook up with their superior officer like you do, Faz!”

Phasma raises her brows. “You honestly think Kylo is a bottom? How do you even know?”

 _Oh, kriff_. Hux takes the bottle back from her and downs the remaining dregs. “I, uh, managed to get ahold of helmet recordings of his fight on Jakku. All part of standard documentation protocols, of course!” he adds hastily.

“Of course.” She leans forward and props her chin on her hands. “Well, then, _spill_. What happened?”

Curse his kriffing mouth, he meant to keep his access to the Jakku recordings a secret, but the Raava has loosened his tongue. He has no choice in it now; he _has_ to tell her. “Aside from managing to disarm Mara Jade—yes, _that_ Mara Jade—he got utterly knocked on his arse by Rey Skywalker. You could practically hear him thinking, ‘ _Top me, top me_ ,’ as she backed him into a corner.”

“But isn’t she, erm, his cousin?”

“Somehow, I don’t think Kylo cares all too much.”

Phasma hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps she’s worth keeping alive, then.” She puts her helmet on. “Well, that’s more than enough work talk. I’ve got places to be, women to bed.”

“Happy skyways,” Hux calls after her. “And don’t you dare forget our meeting before the first meal tomorrow!” She flips him off, her other arm already securely around the waist of an awestruck ‘trooper with chestnut-colored braids.

* * *

Finn wakes up in a medbay on Yavin-4 with his left leg feeling remarkably well, considering that it was shot just a day prior. A white blanket has been pulled over his body, and he lifts it to see his leg swathed in gauze and, wonder of wonders, _bacta_ of all things.

Such a precious resource is usually only given to the higher-ranking officers of the First Order but here he is, a mere sergeant of ten ‘troopers, treated like a grand officer instead of decommissioned or sent to menial janitorial labor.

Mara Jade-Skywalker is in the bed beside his, sleeping deeply while a bearded man in Jedi robes sits beside her bed and holds the hand that isn't wrapped in bandages. Finn sits up and the man turns towards him.

"You're the stormtrooper. FN-2187."

"I’m Finn now." It's hard to look into the man's pale blue eyes for long. They seem to be evaluating him and peering into his very soul. The man obviously cares very much for Mara and Finn feels a stab of guilt over her coming to harm in the process of saving all of their lives. "She saved all of us and I'll be forever grateful to the New Republic for keeping my ‘troopers alive."

The Jedi sighs. "I know she wouldn't have it any other way, especially knowing that innocents were in such danger from my nephew. I just wish my wife would return from more of her missions unscathed."

The obvious hits Finn at last. "You're Luke Skywalker. You ended the Galactic Empire and destroyed the first Death Star."

"Not without a good deal of help from a good many people," Luke says.

"But you're a living legend," Finn says, hardly believing that he's speaking to Public Enemy Number One of the First Order. Mara's face twists in pain as she sleeps and a medical droid rolls over to inject her with something that smooths out her expression once again. "Will she be okay?"

"With time and the help of bionics, she'll eventually fight again, as I did.”

There’s a lot implied there and Finn doesn’t know if that means Alpha-20-Zeta will fight again, too, or if they’ll be shuttled off to heavy interrogation and then deposited on a nameless rock in the Unknown Regions. He wouldn’t blame the New Republic for that. But also, he’s not sure if he can truly pick up a blaster again and turn it on another ‘trooper without giving them the chance to defect. Will he be forced to share information that could lead to a massacre of stormtroopers instead of civilians? And what of the cadets, children taken in by the First Order, too young to know anything other than what the officers tell them?

“Do you know what the New Republic wants from us?” Finn asks. If they’re to be shipped off to the Core worlds and tortured for everything they know, he’d like to know sooner than later. Maybe he can offer himself up if the rest will be allowed to go free.

Luke _hmms_. “I’d say Leia knows more about that than I do. We’d like your support against the First Order, as well as any information you might be willing to provide, but Leia and I bargained for you and your ‘troopers to remain here for now instead of having to testify before the Senate, for example.” He makes a wry smile. “Not without ample pushback from others, of course. But we think it’s for the best while you recuperate.”

Finn rubs his forehead. “I mean, I’ll give any information you want, but there are some things I need to explain to the New Republic about the First Order. Namely, I don’t think my squadron will be the only one that wants to defect.”

“Leia thinks so, too.” Luke seems to hesitate for a moment, before he adds, “There was another reason why we got them to agree to let you stay here, and it involves you specifically.”

He isn’t sure where Luke is going with this. “I mean, if you need me to testify about the First Order or something, I’m already prepared to offer myself up for that.”

The Jedi shakes his head and looks bemused. “No, not about that, Finn. I want to address your Force-sensitivity.”

His heartbeat thunders in his ears and his voice sounds very faint when he replies, “My _what?_ ”

“You mean, you have been unaware of your connection to the Force this entire time? It’s been strongly fluctuating the entire time I’ve been in this room with you, like crashing and ebbing waves.” Luke shakes his head. “I guess Mara and Rey wouldn’t have thought to mention it, or perhaps they put it down to the energy surrounding the _Inflictor_. I didn’t find out for myself until I was nineteen.”

“I have the _Force?_ ” Finn asks again. His hands shake against his blanket. “But why didn’t the First Order cull me like the old Empire or train me like Kylo Ren?”

Luke shrugs. “Maybe they didn’t think to test for it when they took you, or you were never in a position where it manifested dramatically enough for them to notice.”

“But—but, I _can’t_ be a Jedi,” Finn babbles. “I’m a stormtrooper. I’m a sergeant. A soldier.” He swallows hard. “My squad will never look at me the same way again.”

“If you think the ‘troopers who willingly helped you rebel against the First Order will turn their backs on you just because you have the Force, I think you give them too little credit, Finn.”

Finn flinches when Luke puts a hand on his shoulder and the Jedi removes it just as swiftly.

“Look, I’m not asking you to join the Jedi Academy,” Luke sighs. “But not knowing how to control the Force is dangerous and it would be irresponsible of me to let you go without even the basics under your belt. Even my sister Leia learned, though she ultimately decided not to become a Jedi in the end because her work in the Senate was more important than mastering the Force.”

Finn stares at his blanket, hands clenched, as if it will give him the answers he needs to respond. His mind is whirling at a dizzying rate, reminding him of all the times he was able to do something that should have been impossible, things that he put down to luck, like jumping aboard the shuttle ramp. Perhaps he’s not as lucky as he thought. And then there’s the vision he had of Rey that he put down to exhausted hallucinations on a ship of dead Imperials, only to see her in the flesh days later. He thinks about how she smiled at him as if she _knew_ him.

Why does he, of all stormtroopers, have the Force?

“You don’t have to decide now,” Luke says, “but consider visiting the temple when you feel better? I know Rey has been asking after you.”

Mara stirs in the bed next to his and her eyes flutter open. She smiles when she sees Luke and attempts to sit up before collapsing back onto her pillows. “Rey? Don’t let that scamp get away without thoroughly apologizing to you. And maybe offering to clean the temple floors; they could use a scrub.” Finn sees the moment when she looks down at her arm and notices the bandages because the lines tighten around her eyes. Then, absurdly, she chuckles, holding up her arm to Luke. “Look, dear, we’re a matched set!”

Luke rolls his eyes and leans over to kiss her on the forehead. “Well, I suppose you _would_ see the humor in it. I have to go. Comm me before your procedure, alright?”

She makes a half-hearted salute with her injured arm, wincing slightly.

After he leaves, there’s an awkward level of silence in the medbay, as they’re the only ones in the room. Mara breaks the tension by telling him, “I won’t join in on the ‘Become A Jedi’ campaign because Force knows I turned my back on that decades ago, but I will say that you won’t go wrong with Luke as your teacher. He doesn’t pick his students lightly these days, especially students with ties to the First Order.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Finn says. He speaks hesitantly, thinking of his ‘troopers, the very sentients he vowed to protect with his life and command. “But say if I didn’t want to become a Jedi Master… if I wanted to learn the ways of the Force without becoming part of the New Jedi Order… would you be willing to help me?”

He fights the urge to cross his arms as she considers him, her green eyes drooping from the painkillers given to her by the med-droid. “It depends on what your intentions are, young one. But, same as you, I’ll think about it.” She turns away into her pillows, falling back asleep.

Finn doesn’t follow her for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For at least the purposes of this fanfic, let’s just all agree that Luke and Leia agreed to keep the connection between Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader a secret to let sleeping dogs lie.  
> \- Adapted lyrics for this chapter from the “Engineer’s Drinking Song”, which has delightfully nerdy lyrics if you’ve never heard it before.  
> \- Phasma and Hux’s scene dialogue is credited to shenanigans between myself and the Avosquado writer’s group. <3  
> 


	6. Stormtroopers on Yavin-4

**_LEIA IN LIMBO: A Coruscant Sun Exclusive!!!_ _by Karii Lecersen_**

CORUSCANT - Zhellday, Seventh Month, 34 ABY

_Has Alderaan’s most famous princess fallen from her ivory tower at last? Your favorite sleuthing journalist has investigated!_

_For the entirety of her royal and political career, Senator Leia Organa has been known for her rash decisions and impulsive decision-making in the name of her personal agendas. The events at Scarif, her disastrous attack on the Hutts to rescue a smuggler, and even the mysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of her eldest have made her the subject of much parlor talk, if you’ll take my meaning. Despite her past defiance for cooperation with others in the Senate, aside from a select and favored few, Organa has somehow managed, time and time again, to retain her political power without censure. But at last, that record has changed._

_As my dear readers know, the Princess Senator created a literal firestorm last week when she approved the deployment of special forces from the Blockade that protects us all from the nefarious First Order in order to rescue a squadron Stormtroopers on the backwards planet of Jakku and pulled strings to leave them in the custody of her brother, Luke Skywalker, rather than depositing them in a Core World prison to be rightfully tried for their crimes. All Leia’s PR team will quote to your favorite journalist on the matter is that, “Senator Organa felt it was in the best interests of the civilian survival to permit the defecting Stormtroopers to travel with the survivors to Yavin-4.”_

_According to recordings of emergency meetings with the Senate, Leia Organa stands by her decision to advocate for their highly contested custody left in the hands of the New Jedi Order because she proclaims her brother and his acolytes to be neutral parties until a final decision is made about the Stormtroopers. Those well-versed in Galactic history will remember well that the Jedi are anything but neutral when they meddle in the affairs of Coruscant, and if the sister of the most infamous Jedi of our era is willing to order military power to various planets on a whim, then what else might this Alderaanian Anarchist and Skywalker do, should they decide their opinions are more correct than the decisions made by the Senate?_

_I am not the only concerned citizen on this matter, which is intensely threatening to our precious galaxy, only reclaimed from the Empire in the past generation. Yes, dear readers, concerned citizens such as we have hope to prevent further radical vigilante actions by these undemocratic individuals._

_Esteemable Senator Haydnat Treen reported to the press that he would “do his utmost to investigate Senator Organa’s unauthorized use of New Republican forces on Jakku.” Fellow senators Natasi Daala and Fost Bramsin have also voiced their concerns over the events on Jakku, as well as the necessity of the Stormtroopers to be transferred to Coruscanti custody for reasons of intra-galactic security._

_Han Solo had some rather insulting things to say to yours truly when asked for his opinion on the actions of his wife. Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade-Skywalker were unable to be reached for comment._

* * *

As a natural worrywart, Ark is itching to kick down the doors of their new barracks-slash-prison-cell on Yavin-4 after their first-half day with no word from Finn or the civilians they saved, even though he knows that would end very badly with the New Republicans. Not to mention, he’s well aware Yavin-4 has a Jedi temple filled with hot-headed younglings who are probably itching for a fight and, well, fighting dozens of magical children who own laser swords is not his cup of caf, so to speak.

All they would tell him when they moved Alpha-20-Zeta into the bunk-filled room (and thankfully, an attached fresher this time), was that Finn had been taken to the medbay and they didn’t know when he’d be well enough to return. At least their rations are decently filling and their weird-looking fruit and vegetables they give the ‘troopers smell fresh.

The room is sixteen paces wide by thirty paces long and has a single long window near the ceiling to let him gauge how much time has passed. Trapped, again, and this time without his Sarge. He _hates_ it.

“Ark, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor. Take a seat, _please_ ,” Petey tells him, eyeing him warily from her bunk. “Your pacing is making me dizzy.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, plopping on the bunk below hers. If he tilts his head slightly, he can see Hal and Seer getting _extremely cozy_ in the bunk they’ve decided to share together, so he looks away, blushing at catching them in such a private moment together. (Not that ‘troopers ever have any privacy, but it’s the thought that counts.)

There’s a noise on the other side of his bunk like Lav is muffling a scream with a pillow. “ _Ugh!_ ” she lifts her head. “I thought we were done with being trapped in a room together! Any more of this and I’m gonna shoot something out of sheer boredom.”

“Aww, you hate us that much, Lav? I’m offended,” Zig says mockingly. “Hey, I’ll sing you ‘A Jedi’s Saber Has A Knob on the End’ if you’re keen for some entertainment.”

“Please, _don’t_ ,” the other ‘troopers chorus together.

“The lot of you have no taste in music,” Zig huffs.

Duha speaks up, gentle as usual: “Look at the window and see how night has fallen. We should all try to rest. I trust they will wake us if they need to.”

Ark fights to stay awake, if only so he can tell Finn at least one of them was disciplined enough to keep watch, but then Petey whispers to him, “I’ll keep watch, Ark. Go to sleep.” He stops fighting the heavy pull of his eyelids and rests at last.

* * *

Rey has been in trouble in her life more times than she can count, but this is the first time she can safely say she deliberately jumped into the metaphorical sarlacc’s maw. She’s most definitely on just about everyone’s Rancor Shit List.

Poe accepts her apology with a ruffle of her hair and telling her to “never pull such a stupid, hare-brained stunt ever again”, but often disappears into his datapads or the Archives these days and isn’t around much, so if he’s behaving differently around her, it’s hard to know. Jess, on the other hand…

Well, their private follow-up argument on Yavin-4 hadn’t been pretty, and in the end, Jess had asked her for some space and Rey had retreated to the Jedi temple. The Jedi temple, where of course, Luke listens to her half-hearted apology without expression and then assigns her to mop the floors of the temple as penance. _They really are filthy,_ she thinks, replenishing her bucket with water from the outdoor pump for the fifth time that day.

When Finn approaches her, leaning on a set of crutches, she doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing at first.

“Finn?” she asks, the bucket slipping from her fingers and splashing water on her robes. “Why are you here? They told me you were still resting in the medbay.”

“I was,” he says, a strange expression twisting his admittedly rather handsome features. “Master Luke thought I should talk to you.” 

Rey taps her chin with a finger. “Huh, did he think a pretty soldier would encourage me to listen to my elders better or…?”

Finn flushes and sorta stammers something quite to the contrary of her assumption, which is when Rey laughs and teasingly tugs his black under-armor sleeve.

“Oh, not that, _hmm?_ A pity. He knows how effective pretty people are on me.” She’s almost definitely testing her limits of Jedi propriety at the moment (not that she’s ever bothered to take it seriously), but she takes a chance and winks at him, enjoying the sight of him becoming even more flustered. “Nah, I’m just joshing you. I knew you had the Force ages ago. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Finn grimaces. _Oh no._ “Thanks, I hate it.”

Rey tries to inject more enthusiasm into her words. After all, there’s no way Finn can possibly hate the Force when he learns all the cool things he can do with it, yeah? “Oh, but Finn, with proper training in the ways of Force, you could be so amazing! Just think about it! The impossible acrobatics, moving things without touching them, reading minds, swapping out your clunky gun and terrible ‘Trooper armor for swords that cut through metal and robes that have actual airflow on warm planets!”

The latter part is the wrong thing to say to him. He growls, “I like my clunky gun and my ‘Troopers, thanks. I don’t get why you all are trying so hard to separate me from them. Did you make a deal with the ‘Pubs to make me a Jedi and send the rest of my squadron to prison, or something?”

“What? No! Wherever did you get that ridiculous idea?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “And yet, you’re all so invested in making me learn your magic tricks and they are keeping my ‘Troopers away from me. What am I supposed to think, Rey?”

“Think whatever you like,” she replies, shrugging. There’s something twisting the side of his mouth, as if he’s keeping back bile he’d spit at her and the rest of Yavin-4’s populace if his odds of winning a fight with Yavinians in his current state weren’t so depressing. “But I will mention that I was only going to start today with some simple breathing exercises. So you don’t, you know…” She trails off and mimes an explosion.

He blinks, eyes widening. “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

“Loss of control whenever your emotions and the Force take control of you. Tends to have rather bad results for the Force-sensitive kids who do it before we discover them.” Rey casually inspects her nails. “Also potentially very bad for anyone around them, _Sergeant Finn_.”

Another stab of guilt stings Rey when she sees how worried he looks. Admittedly, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be responsible for an entire group of people, but the image brings to bind a holofilm that featured the legendary swans, little cygnets darting closely behind their elders in the water, as attached as red and black-colored clothing on a Dathomirian. Not that she was lying about the loss of control part per se as much as using the worry about the other ‘Trooper defectors written all over Finn’s face to do as Luke asked of her.

“If I agree to train with you, will I be permitted to see my squadron?” Finn asks.

“I mean, I’ll make it happen even if I have to break you into their room myself,” Rey tells him, and she means it. Quite frankly, new blood so rarely appears on Yavin-4 that she’s sure it must be something of a crime to keep so many new faces clustered away from where they could entertain her with news of worlds beyond the Core.

“Deal,” Finn says, a thin smile cracking on his face like a sunrise wavering behind a heatwave. “What do you want me to do?”

It’s too easy, without either Luke or Mara around, to mimic her father’s infamous _lecture voice_ : “Well, my young padawan. To learn self-control, you will first learn to breathe.” The air is getting gross and muggy and sweaty this late in the evening. “But not here. We’ll steal the best spot in the temple aka the only spot with central cooling. And the _actual comfy_ _cushions_.”

Finn looks uncertainly at the temple entrance ahead of them. “Lead the way, Lady Rey,” he says, voice soft in its uncertainty. (If her cheeks blaze a rather vivid shade of pink at being called a “Lady”, he doesn’t mention it.)

“Just call me Rey,” she tells him, snapping her fingers to make the mop and bucket follow them into the Temple’s blissfully cooler corridors.

* * *

Poe’s research into Madame Di Pala’s warning has hit a metaphorical wall, and it annoys the hell out of him. He spends long hours in the Archives of Yavin-4 beneath the Jedi Temple, often falling asleep slumped over a table filled with datapads, holos, and crumbling paper texts. When he awakes in the middle of the night, hair more mussed than usual, staring blearily-eyed at the same mess of information he has yet to parse, Di Pala’s words haunt him:

_Tuanul contact compromised. The Force is awakening and the First Order is rising. Find the survivors of the Inquisition in the Outer Rim._

According to the surviving villagers of Tuanul, Lor San Tekka is dead, killed by Kylo Ren himself. And if there was any doubt in his mind as to the First Order rising beyond their pathetically predictable attacks on the Blockade, the battle of Jakku confirmed the seriousness of the warning. To so blatantly attack a planet in the Western Reaches, especially an attack led by Kylo Ren, can only mean the First Order has a new plot against the New Republic.

However, his mind trips over and over again on the other part of Di Pala’s warning. His only lead into what the Inquisition could mean is from the days of the Old Empire, when Inquisitors hunted the Jedi under Darth Vader’s orders. 

Survivors? And in the Outer Rim, where the First Order has even greater strength? Impossible.

If they had survived, they would be as ancient as Luke’s late Master Yoda by now, and what would Kylo Ren possibly want with the decrepit Jedi who have remained in hiding throughout the final days of the Galactic Civil War and the new conflict with the First Order? Unless, perhaps, he wishes to finish what Vader started.

Even with Poe’s spymaster training under Leia, every lead he has found on Jedi thus far who were said to have survived the final days of the Clone Wars reaches a dead end, with the Jedi either reported as killed by Inquisitors or presumed missing and dead for decades.

After another fruitless day of research in the Archives, he slumps against his chair, unable to keep staring at the holos and datapads any longer. He dreams of Jakku, of flying _Black One_ over the sands, of watching the small, white-clad figures of the defecting Stormtroopers racing to safety with their leader limping behind. In his dream, he sees Finn jump an impossible distance for the ship in terrible slow motion, forgetting to breathe until he sees the man pulled to safety…

Poe jolts awake and clambers up the ladder of the archives, jogging through the Jedi Temple until he runs into Rey and Finn meditating together. Ignoring Rey’s protests about interrupting them, he meets Finn’s intense stare and asks, “Are there others like you?”

“I don’t follow,” Finn says, pushing himself up from his cushion to stand.

Poe feels like he’s seeing a puzzle that’s haphazardly put together, with several pieces obviously missing. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to put his racing thoughts into something more coherent.

“Force-sensitive people in the First Order. Or Force-sensitive people the First Order knew about. Are there more?”

“What the hell makes you think I would know?” Finn demands. “I only found out what I was when I woke up here, for galaxy’s sake.”

Belatedly, Poe remembers where they are speaking and inclines his head for Finn to follow him to the Archives. “I’ve got to tell you something, okay? It’s important, I swear.” Rey trails behind them, muttering something about Poe monopolizing her padawan’s time, which he pretends to not hear.

It’s much colder in the underground Archives, which Poe only considers after he helps the injured ‘Trooper to the bottom of the ladder, when the trio is standing around Poe’s research table and he notices Finn shivering in his thin under-armor blacks. Without thinking about it, he tugs off his flight jacket and hands it to him. “Here. I’m used to this place already.”

“Thanks,” Finn murmurs, putting it on. Poe tries not to think about how well the man’s broad shoulders fill his jacket, but _damn_.

Rey, watching them, raises an eyebrow at Poe behind Finn’s back and he shrugs at her. Finn is cold; Poe is not. Share the jacket. Simple, really. 

“Look, I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say about this, but the First Order is mixed up in something involving Force-sensitive people in the Outer Rim and I’m stumped for clues on finding these people before Ren does. But if you’re Force-sensitive and somehow managed to survive under their nose this entire time…” Poe trails off, looking at Finn expectantly.

Finn shakes his head. “I know we were on Tuanul for something important with Kylo Ren, but I have no idea what and if it has to do with the Jedi, that’s well beyond anything they’d tell a lowly sergeant, Dameron.” The disappointment must be showing on Poe’s face because Finn steps a little closer, concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be more help but—” Finn’s eyes widen and he slaps a hand to his forehead. “Oh, of course!”

“Of course, _what_?” Rey asks curiously.

“PT-34—I mean, Petey!” he says excitedly, a warm smile lighting up his face. “If there’s someone on Yavin-4 who can figure out what the First Order is hiding and also keep it a secret, it’s her.”

The rest of the day moves rather quickly after that, with extricating the promised Petey the ‘Trooper (with permission from the posted New Republic guards) against an onslaught of questions from the rest of Finn’s squad, which they try to answer as quickly as they can before racing back to the Archives and giving Petey the abbreviated edition of Poe’s research.

A worry line sets in Petey’s brown forehead as she listens to them explain their problem, but once she’s handed Poe’s datapad, the worry turns into furrowed determination. She ties back her long hair and sets to work, fingers moving in a blur as she searches. The others eat a late meal at the table and do their best to not distract her, but Poe impatiently jiggles his leg up and down until Rey stills him with a hand on his thigh and a small smile, even as she quietly murmurs about Force theory to Finn to continue the latter’s Jedi instruction.

Poe is dozing off again in the early hours of the next morning when he jolts up to Petey’s exclaimed, “ _Aha!_ ”

“ _Wazzit?_ ” he slurs tiredly, pinching himself awake and wishing he had a steaming cup of caf.

Petey’s smile thin, but proud. “I swear, sometimes the First Order has top-notch data security, but in times like this, it feels like stealing sweets from an Ewok.”

“What did you find?” Finn asks, matching her look of pride. It’s almost sweet, Poe thinks, how much happier the ex-‘Trooper has seemed ever since seeing his squadron again. He wishes Rey and Jess would make up already; he misses her presence around the Temple.

“I intercepted a transcribed audio file between Kylo Ren and Admiral Thrawn before our deployment to Taunul. I have reason to believe Lord Ren killed Lor San Tekka to keep him quiet before the New Republic could learn of Tekka’s latest findings on Force users.”

“And?” Rey prompts eagerly.

Petey leans across the table towards them, lowering her voice to the barest of whispers. “What do you know about a Jedi named Jorus C’baoth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Long time, no update, hmm? That’s what I get for pausing a fic when COVID-19 nonsense took over my life earlier this year and then other fic ideas captured my attention.   
> \- Oh, wow, look at all these EU references I’m dropping in this chapter! See, Disney, it isn’t that hard to mention things that already exist outside of awkward af movies. (Yes, I’m still bitter.)  
> \- New POV character and a Discworld reference, all in one scene!


End file.
